


I Promise the Stars

by twistedshadows



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Eventual Poe Dameron/Finn, Everyone Is Gay, Finn/Poe Dameron - Freeform, Finnpoe - Freeform, Gay Poe Dameron, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Poe Dameron/Finn - Freeform, Poe-centric, Post TLJ, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Post-TLJ, SPOILERS for TLJ, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Star Wars - Freeform, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Spoilers, Stormpilot, no rose bashing, post-tlj Finnpoe, post-tlj Stormpilot, slow burn Finn/Poe Dameron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 17:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedshadows/pseuds/twistedshadows
Summary: It's hard at the beginning, as most important things tend to be. Reactions are mixed, but the general consensus is that they all like Poe more as a pilot than a leader. And for the most part, Poe agrees with them.In the days taking place after the battle on Crait, Poe has to learn what it means to be a leader in the wake of losses that hang heavy on his soul.





	I Promise the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I think I've fixed every issue with formatting. If you find any, please let me know and I'll fix it ASAP! Enjoy!

It’s hard in the beginning, as most important things tend to be. Word of the mutiny still holds strong within the ranks of the rebellion, and the smell of loss still permeates through the air and sticks to the walls in a foul stench comparable to old socks left out in the mud to suffer. As the Rebellion responds to the past day and a half, rumors start to fly throughout the remaining members.

“I _heard he stunned Holdo before she had even responded to the situation.”_

_“I heard he was the one who sold our location to the first order.”_

_‘I heard he gave up piloting forever.”_

_“I heard he…”_

_“I heard…”_

Reactions are mixed, but the general consensus is that they all like Poe more as a pilot than a leader.

And for the most part, Poe agrees with them. The first few days are tough, as most journeys often are. The Millenium Falcon continues to cruise through space, their surroundings oddly silent. The residents of the ship are jumpy and banged-up, ready for another attack that they knew they won’t survive.

But no attack comes, at least not until they finally get in contact with one of their allies from the outer rim - Askaji, one of the few planets that hadn’t been attacked by Starkiller Base when it was still in commision. Their technology isn’t the most advanced and the climate isn’t the best, but what can they do at a time like this? So Poe tells Rey to fly the Falcon down, down, down to the dusty desert of Askaji and warns the Rebellion of what may creep out of the sand at them. Together, they bring their wounded and their depleted and trudge and limp their way to visit what was left of the Askajian government to beg for a place to stay that won't constantly drift through space, a place that won't drive them to pull out their blasters at every bump. every flash of light seen out the window. A place that will drive the shadows away, just enough to allow them to live in the light.

As the Rebellion walks, locals take notice. Some hide. Some stay. But all take in the sight of 30-odd travellers all walking in a horde together fighting their way through the wind and the sand. 30-odd travellers of different species and planets supporting one another - sometimes literally, as their only stretcher is being used to cart the still unconscious Rose - all walking behind and with a Stormtrooper that has broken free of the system looking warier than any soldier has any right to, a pilot from Yavin 4 with a bit of a limp and eyes that longs for a night of sleep, the legendary Leia Organa leading the charge for good, and Rey, the newcomer with no last name and a famous first one who carries a familiar lightsaber in her belt. It swings slightly as she walked, looking more innocuous than anybody knows to be true.

 _This_ , Poe thinks as he eyes Rey, i _s what a leader should look like._ Strong. Ready to protect. Ready to give for the people she has come to love. Not the type of person that for so long had thought the ends justifies the means, that human life was a way to get what you wanted, even if more would be saved in the end. Not the type of person who ran, whether it be into a fight or away from one. _This,_ Poe thinks as he eyes the empty spaces between the people surrounding him,  _is what a leader needs to be._  And the way that Finn’s hand would brush against hers as they laugh like an old married couple… Poe would rather not talk about the snake in his stomach that writhes every time that happened and instead focused on the sand crushing beneath his boots, the ones he always wore for battle, and the ever bearing suns of the desert planet. For a moment, Poe allows his thoughts to drift past the rebellion, above the clouds and away, back to D’Qar where victory was imminent and he wasn’t expected to know all the answers. He was a commander, yes, but wasn’t expected to command  _everyone_ \- just his team that was now gone, lost to the harsh Crait salt or the vacuum of space during the battle against the First Order, touched by the hand of death that seems to follow him wherever he lead. He allows himself to miss them, to miss the days spent training together and fighting together and depending on each other to make it out alive. He allows himself to miss the euphoria of victory, the heat of the gunfire that would brush against his skin but never hurt him because something that felt too damn good could _never_ hurt him. It wouldn't dare. But then Leia stops in front of him and he is reminded of who he was right now and what he is expected to do and the weight of the world decides to crush him, like the ships he saw go down barely a few days ago. Stepping out in front of the Askaji representatives, he gives his plea for help and hopes it isn't lost to the void.

“Hi there.” Okay, maybe not the best way to introduce the last scrap of hope in the galaxy. “I’m Commander Poe Dameron of the Resistance. We’ve just suffered a great loss at the hands of the First Order. We’ve lost our main cruiser, most of our fleets, and a great number of your troops." He gestures a little helplessly to those surrounding him. "The people you see here now is all that’s left of the Resistance.”

Mumbles coming from the Askajians. This definitely wasn’t what they expected when word came in that the resistance was running low on supplies, and definitely isn't the fabled fighters of yesteryear's lore.

“But,” Poe says, commanding their attention back to him, as he's supposed to do, “this isn’t the end of us. We’re low on numbers, but for the first time in a long time, the First Order is scared. Of _us._  Just look around the galaxy. The word is that they’ve been cracking down on planets that have had histories of rebellions in the past. More people are being hurt by them than ever.”

This time the whispers comes from behind Poe, from the rebellion. The whispers slither behind Poe, making their way to the crevice of his brain that stores the nasty things and hides away for later, for when the nighttime comes and he's alone with nothing but his thoughts to entertain him.

_Is that true?_

_I didn’t know that…_

_Is this our fault?_

_What else have Dameron and Organa been keeping from us?_ They're accusations, wonderings of misplaces trust, bandaids peeling off the wounds they were feebly applied to.

Again, Poe waits until everybody is listening before continuing his charade. “This seems bad, right? The First Order are lying, scheming, disgusting snakes. But you know the reason a snake starts to rattle.”

This time, the answer came from Finn, the first words he's said to a crowd in ages. “They’re scared.”

“That’s right. They know we’re winning. Already we’ve had citizens getting in contact with us, wanting to join, looking for small ways they can help. Creating upstarts in their communities. Attacking stormtroopers that pass them. Our impact is being felt from around the galaxy. Imagine what we can do after a week or two of proper treatment for our wounded and a ship or two.” Poe pauses again, scanning his crowd, reading the room. He’s put on a good show so far, but it’s nothing without a proper finale.

“In fact, there are rumors of the Jedi order making a comeback. Whispers about Luke Skywalker making his first appearance in over thirty years to defeat Kylo Ren in battle before mysteriously disappearing again. Word of a new Jedi being trained, getting ready to take on the Sith and restore order to the galaxy.

“Askajians, I’d like you to meet Rey. The first new Jedi in generations and our key to defeating the First Order.”

Rey gives a small wave, obviously not expecting such a dramatic reveal. But the trick has affect. The court has erupted in talk, Askajians clamoring over each other to get a glimpse of the new legend that came in the form of a small brunette from nowhere.

And slowly, their view of the rebellion begins to change.

 

* * *

 

Things are still hard in the rebellion but hopefully will be less so now that the Askajian government has lent them their old military base that they haven’t used since Darth Vader was in power. There is good news and bad news: the good being that the place is big enough to fit everyone and there’s medpacs at the ready to finally change bandages and help the people that had not been helped because of the lack of supplies. The bad news? There is barely enough power in the place to keep the lights on.

“Things could be worse,” Leia says to Poe as she tries to work out the ancient computer.

Poe shoots her a look.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?”

To that, Poe has no witty response.

 

* * *

 

It’s late when Poe makes his way to his assigned barrack. At the risk The day had been long and wore against his mind, extended by the lengthy rotation of the planet and the feeling of _lostness_ that always followed journeys in space. And after being in space for so long, with no real way to track the passage of time, the time shift was hitting him like a bag of boulders. At least he was able to go back to the ship and retrieve BB-8, who is rather annoyed at Poe for leaving him alone for so long. After some fiendish scolding and some bad language on BB-8’s end, all seemed to be forgiven and together they amble to the barracks. He’s relieved to find it empty, thought he's not very sure why. The base is pretty small, but their numbers are few, so there’s enough bunks for each person to have the share each room with only two or three others. In barrack #23, Poe doesn’t know who he’ll be bunking with and doesn’t really care. All that matters is him and sleep, a release from his thoughts and his guilt and the accusations he makes against himself nightly. He barely manages to make it out of his shirt before crashing onto a bed and zonking out.

He wakes up with a start a few hours later at the sound of someone opening the door. Before he can think about it, he’s grabbed his blaster and is aiming it at the intruder.

“Whoa!” The intruder exclaims. “Calm down, it’s just me.” Through the faint light coming in from the small window, Poe can barely just make out the shape of the person.

“Wait a minute, Finn? Is that you?” Poe tosses the blaster aside. “Thank God. Where have you been?”

Finn sighs and sits on the bunk opposite of Poe. “I was visiting Rose. She’s awake, thank goodness, but hurt and a little disoriented. I was there for the past couple of hours just talking to her. I didn’t really have a chance to get to know her before she… Y’know…”

Poe nods, shoving down the suspicious feelings in his gut. “Yeah, I get it. I’m glad she’s safe. You two seem to have a special relationship.”

There’s a sleepy silence in the room, registering how late it really is. Finn starts to relax onto his bunk, plopping his head down on his musty pillow and closing his eyes. Poe does similarly, feeling the familiar tentacles of sleep start to pull at him once more. He’s almost asleep again when Finn speaks softly from across the room.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but… Thank you. For covering us when we went to find that code breaker. I know it really could’ve landed you in a lot of trouble and it almost ended really badly, but you still stuck with us. With  _me._ Even though you just met me and I’ve already tried to desert twice…” Finn’s voice trails off.

There’s another silence, this one sharper. No longer is the sleepy feeling of midnight in the air, but a bite that truth brings. Poe’s breathing isn’t the measured and relaxed of a person drifting away, but the labored breath of the living.

Finally, he speaks. “Anytime, pal.” He doesn't want to think about this, not tonight, not not, and certainly not with Finn a few feet away sharing the sadness that lingers in the air.

The two roll over and unknown to the other, both pretended to fall asleep.

Neither fall for it.

The next day when Finn wakes up, Poe is already gone.

 

* * *

 

_There’s only been four moments in Poe’s life he’d ever been truly scared._

_The first is when his mother brought him up in her A-wing for the first time. It was a good ship, a trusty one. His mother, Shara Bey, used it in the fight against Darth Vader time and time again and it had never once let her down. She trusted that ship like a son and the ship trusted her back and they both brought each other home safely time and time again. When the time was right, when he was six years old, she thought it would be a good idea to bring him up, teach him to fly. Just like her._

_He remembers the first time she brought him up. It was a clear day, all skies and sun. She plopped him in her lap, reached over him head to get to the controls, and up they went, together. Into the vast blue nothingness. Poe stared out that window and held on for dear life as their little house got smaller and smaller until it was just a dot among the trees of Yavin 4. And he just looked. At her, at the speck of their house, at the everything that seemed to be calling him. The sky that he wanted to swim in until he dropped down to reality from exhaustion. And at that moment, Poe understood everything._

_So small in a galaxy so big…_

_He reaches for that feeling every time he’s up._

_But it’s also terrifying to be reminded that you’re just six in your mom’s lap looking at the blinking lights and wanting to learn them all._

 

* * *

 

The next day there’s a debrief.

Poe’s never liked debrief, especially those with many other people. Too many opinions, too many bodies crowding in one place shouting about what went wrong and who’s fault that is. Even though the big battle took place more than two days ago, nobody wanted to jinx anything by debriefing on the Falcon. Better go over your secrets on solid land rather than hurtling through space where anything could come at you. Besides, judgement for the future would be crowded due to the adrenaline racing through everyone’s system as the aftermath of the fight settles into everyone’s bones like a chill in a graveyard.

Poe arrives early, before the rest of their fighters arrive. Usually it would only be the main leadership attending, but since they’ve been resorted to such a meager amount of people that have survived this much, Leia thinks it wouldn’t be fair to make this debrief exclusive. Especially with the information that Rey is about to share. The entire base was buzzing with it, the stories that would be told by her to announce what finally became of the illustrious Luke Skywalker.  

Poe arrives early because he couldn’t stay in the tiny underground barrack anymore, not with  _him_ on the opposite bed, facing the opposite wall, facing the opposite side of the galaxy, barebacked like the sun with that white hot scar in the shape of Kylo’s rage staring at him, never blinking. He gives a crisp nod to the General who shoots it right back at him. She’s been making herself scarcer nowadays, staring out of windows more often, dabbling more and more in the ways of the Force. Ever since that incident, the _i_ _ncident,_ where she went careening out of the cruiser into the nothing and brought herself back using willpower alone, she’d been a little different. Still feisty. Still fighting. Still illuminated with the flames of passion that sends the First Order reeling everytime they catch a glimpse of it.

Still Leia.

But lately, she had seemed… Tired. Tired of the fight, on the injustice that still wreaked havoc on the planets she once loved, tired of seeing her family blown apart every other week. There was something in those ancient eyes that weren't in there before, a look that is only gained after looking death in his cool, blue eyes and telling him  _not today._

Still battling. Still strategizing. Still thinking.

But tired. Tired of always looking over her shoulder, of seeing her once-beloved son burn all the good that was left in the star system.

And Poe can see it on her face as the Rebellion trickles in. Scanning the beaten faces as they come in, with every passing one the look in her eye changing slightly until it is no longer recognizable. Finally, when the last of the stragglers trickle in (Finn being the last to enter), she speaks.

She speaks quietly, as she always does, but not in a way that one would think her to be shy. She speaks in a way that commands the attention of everyone in the room, drawing their eyes and their ears so they can’t look away. She speaks like a General with the war on her shoulders, supporting the lives of so many that each word that comes out has weight. Like each syllable can change the direction of the war.  

“Today, we thank each of our own gods. We thank our friends and family that have died in the past few days to get us here, at this moment, in this point in time. We thank Admiral Holdo, for doing what needed to be done to get us out of there. We thank Commander Dameron, Finn, and Rose Tico who were willing to sacrifice everything for the cause. We thank Luke Skywalker. And most importantly,” she turned to face Rey, who was standing a little ways behind her. “We thank Rey, without whom, we would still be in that cave awaiting defeat.”

There’s a light smattering of applause. No one knows exactly what to think of this spry girl they’ve seen perform feats of the Force but they damn well know to respect her.

“Rey, if you wouldn’t mind…?” Leia steps aside and allows Rey to take her place at the head of the room. She clears her throat.

“Supreme Leader Snoke is dead.”

A tsunami of emotion spreads around the room, everyone with a different reaction. Some disbelief, some happy sighs, some grumbles of distrust. Nobody knows what to think of this news - one of the biggest threats to peace is now disposed. So why is the war still continuing? Why are they still looking over their shoulders?

“And… Kylo Ren has taken his place as supreme leader.” Rey finishes.

The room  _erupts._ Noise from every corner of the room, not a single mouth left closed. Everyone has something to say about this new exchange of power. Each opinion, each yell, each shout from each fighter, each pilot, each medic, all shout and say and whisper the same type of words.

_Unstable violent galaxy at war hatred evil torturous rebuker of peace bringer of the light that has snuffed out so many responsible for death for uncontrollable rage destroyer of hope -_

“Hey, hey, hey - “ Rey tries to grab the attention of the room once more but the panic is banging at the walls like a prisoner trying to get free and no one will

 _listen_ to her why won’t they  _listen_ to the only person who has any idea of where to go to next  _why isn’t -_

“That’s _enough!”_ Finn explodes from the corner, shocking the room into silence. During the past few days he hasn’t said much to anyone, sticking to the shadows and more watching than participating. The outburst comes as a shock to everyone, especially Poe, who has been watching his friend grow away from everyone else, choosing silence and haunted stares over admittedly fraught conversation.

“Yeah, the news is bad. Kylo Ren? In charge? With no one to answer to? That could lead to some serious destruction. But I know for a  _fact_ he can be beaten.” Finn started to pace around the room, passing people who keep watching him, enraptured and a little bit worried. “When I was in the First Order, he always acted before thinking about the consequences. We’d always have to clean up the stuff he broke with his lightsaber when things didn’t go his way. A person like that can’t be control in an army for very long before things start to to go wrong. And who’s going to be watching to see when they slip up?” a pause for effect. “ _Us._ And the people like us scattered around the galaxy, waiting for a chance to take back what the First Order took.”

An idea started forming in Poe’s head. “He’ll be spread thin trying to keep things together.” Quickly he strides to one of the maps adorning the walls. Grabbing a red pen from his pocket, he starts to mark it up.

“Kylo’s main fleet is here.” His fist whacks against the wall where he hit it, just a few miles north of Crait. His main suppliers are here, here, and here.” _Whack, whack, whack._ “He’ll be looking for an attack on these places, putting all his focus on there. Where does that leave him open for attack?”

“The smaller planets,” Rey answers for him, recognition dawning on her face.

“That’s right. You think Ren cares about his smaller bases? No, he can live without those. How does a few shipments of blasters compare to losing half of his TIE fighters? But when those blasters start to add up…” He started crossing out the smaller planets until only three remained. “Suddenly those ammo-less TIE fighters are all he has.”

“By taking out his support…” Finn breaths, “he’ll have nothing to stand on.”

“ _Exactly.”_

“Yeah, one problem,” a sargent near the back said, “we have no ships.”

Poe turns his sly grin towards the voice. “Then I say we count on all those people telecomming that they want to help.”

 

* * *

 

Poe eats lunch with Finn that day. He realizes it’s the first real sit-down they’ve had together since… Since, well, ever.

And… it’s nice. It’s really, really nice. Finn learns what a “muffin” is and BB-8 prowls around their legs like a protective chaperone.

These are the things Poe learns about Finn:

a. When he was younger he used to bring bugs he found around the base back to his bunk and try to keep them alive under his pillow.

b. This never worked, due to the Stormtroopers sleeping in the same place for the most part and it’s very easy for creepy-crawlies to escape down to lower bunks and freedom when he wasn’t looking.

c. Due to Jakku, he now has an extreme loathing for climates with incredibly high temperatures, and prefers to stay in the cool shade of forests.

“Gonna be a little hard to come by on this desert planet,” Poe chuckles.

d. He’s also never learned how to swim.

“Really? That seems a little underprepared.”

“I know. I never complained though.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

e. He loves stories.

Poe also asks Finn his favorite color. “You probably didn’t see too much art in the First Order.”

Finn thinks for a minute, glancing around at the grey tables and the grey benches and the grey food and the grey emotions that swirl around the cafeteria. “You know what? Let’s do this outside.”

 

* * *

 

The noonday sun bears down on the two, turning the charcoal sands light under their feet. It’s hot, so say the least, but neither want to tear their gaze away from the sky, a pale off-white in color, decorated by tiny flecks of pink and yellow as the stars itch to come out from behind the canvas that hides them. Together, they trek a little ways away from the base until they find themselves on a hill overlooking it all. They were the only prominent specks of color for miles.

“So, what _is_ your favorite color?” Poe asks, lying on top of his jacket.

Finn pauses for a moment. It’s not that he hasn’t given this any thought - no, in his time in the First Order he used to grab any color he could see and hold it inside him, cherishing it during the dark nights surrounded by the snorts and snores of everyone.

“Blue.” He finally answered definitively. “Blue like Rey’s lightsaber. Blue like the Jakku sky when I first woke. Blue like… what I imagine the ocean will look like.”

“I’ll take you to the ocean one day.” Poe said. “We’ll make an adventure of it. Find the biggest ocean planet out there and land right in the middle of it.”

“You’re going to have to watch me struggle a lot. Can’t swim for beans.”

“What’s an adventure without struggle?”

 

* * *

 

_The second time he was truly scared was the day she was gone._

_He was eight years old when it happened, eight years existing in the same period of time as the mom he loved so dearly. Eight years he’d never have back, eight years he would never experience again._

_He was sitting underneath the great tree that stretched to the sky that sat outside their little cottage when he got the news. His dad was inside with the doctor. Through the window, Poe could see their solemn faces._

_Poe’s fingered itched for the controls of the A-wing. For his ticket out off this planet, out of the vines that lashed his feet to the floor, away from this situation that couldn’t be solved by climbing in and going up. His fingers itched for the stars._

_Poe’s father stepped out of the cottage, closing the door too quietly behind him. His movements were slow, calculated. He approached his son like one would a spooked horse._

_“I’m sorry,” Kes Dameron rumbled in that deep, deep voice like the giants his mother swore lived in the forest._

_And the sky fell inward._

 

* * *

 

It’s nighttime now, and the two are still outside. They watched the sun fall together and contemplate the sky turning into the plum of night.

“I have something to tell you,” Finn voices out of the blue. Poe’s stomach lurches, imaging worse possible scenarios. Finn’s betrayed them to the First Order, he’s actually dying, he wants to leave the Resistance, he understands droid-speak and heard everything BB-8 and Poe gossip about behind their backs--

“I lost your jacket.”

Poe breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s it?”

“I thought you’d be upset.”

“Well, I’m not ecstatic about it but I was expecting way worse. Honestly, after everything that happened that day, I’m glad that’s the worst thing you have to tell me.”

“I really liked that jacket, though!” Finn said, chuckling.

“I mean, I really liked that jacket on you too! But you’re more important to me than the jacket and we’re both here and we’re both okay. And honestly, after your adventure with Rose, I don’t really want to know where that jacket has been…”

Finn laughs again and shoves Poe playfully. “I’ll have you know I took  _excellent_ care of that jacket while I was out.”

“I’m sure you did, buddy. I trust you.”

They look at each other and the walls they've built come tumbling down. Inside Finn is a mess of blue and light and love and  _pain_ and so, so much more that Poe yearns to talk to. The night is beautiful and only for them, and tonight, Poe swears he'd recreate everything he's ever seen in the sky for his friend to see and experience. He's about to say  _something_ to Finn, he's not sure what, something to this kindred spirit that's lost in the same darkness that Poe's drowning in.

And that’s when the world in front of them explodes into a flame-filled mess of yellow and orange and  _bright_ as the First Order ascends from the sky.

And without even  _thinking_ about it, Poe’s already grabbed Finn’s hand and they sprint together towards the base where people are already evacuating with mutters of  _not again_  and  _can’t they wait a week?_ and there’s Rey with her lightsaber, already defensive towards any evils that come a-racing towards her but she’s ushering people out and towards the few ships that work on the base and all Poe can think about is  _how many will die today_ and -

Finn’s starts in the opposite direction but Poe holds on tighter because he  _won’t_ come close to losing him, not now, not today not  _ever_ and he lets a sigh of relief out when he sees Rose being helped onto the Falcon by their medics -

He begins by ordering the least hurt to the front of the ships to fly them because they’re awfully short on pilots and he sure as hell isn’t leaving until everyone is safe and people race by him looking at him for him for guidance to tell them what’s happening while the Stormtroopers swarms the ground

“ _GO, GO GO”_ he screams a little arbitrarily because who would stay on a base like this at a time like this? and he’s yelling for the healthy to give the injured their blasters because the hurt can’t run but they can  _sure as hell shoot_ while the healthy push them onto the ships-

He squeezes Finn’s hand again hopefully conveying a desperate message to  _stay with me_ right before he lets go and begins barking orders towards his people, the only people he has left-

And Poe is sending his most trusted, the people he know will find him again to pilot the ships and he whispers their meet-up point to them so they’ll find each other later-

He pulls his blaster from the holster and turns to _go_ take the Order head on while the rest escape because he’ll be _damned_ if there’s more Rebellion blood on the floor because of him and he sees Finn turn to follow him into battle and-

“ _Stop!”_ Poe shouts to him, placing his hand on Finn’s chest.

“ _I need you to gun on the ships,”_ Poe says.

“ _I need you to make sure the injured make it out,”_ Poe says.

“ _I need you to make sure no one else dies.”_ Poe says.

“ _I need you to make a choice,”_ Poe thinks.

“ _I need you to live.”_ Poe thinks.

There’s a question living in Finn’s eyes, one that asks whether he should charge into battle with his guns blazing or stay out of battle and protect those who need protecting.  
There’s a question living in Finn’s eyes, one that asks whether he should trust Poe and go and or trust his gut and leave, risking possible injury or death.

There’s a question living in Finn’s eyes, one that asks whether self-sacrifice is better than the greater good.

There’s a question living in Poe’s heart, one that asks if he can trust his friend, his _best_ friend, his _only living_ friend to follow his judgement when there’s other options involved.

One that asks whether he really believes in the spirit of the Rebellion.

One that asks whether he’s going to lose his friend.

And with one last look at Poe, Finn rages into the battle with his blaster pointed at the very same Stormtroopers he once trained with.

With a curse, Poe heads towards the ships. In his heart, he knows he’s a pilot, not a leader. He might as well do what he knows he can do best.

 

* * *

 

Well, at least the comms are up.

They make this discovery a few hours after the battle - if it can ever be referred to as that - after trying at least three times an hour until they _finally_ connect with each of the five ships that made it out, one at a time.

They first one they reach, miraculously, is the ship the General made it onto. Poe gives a full report of what happened on his side of the battle, and tells her the six people that are on the ship with him, who are also up the walls with worry. In response, she tells him that there are four people on her ship, including her, none of which are Finn.

“Outdated as Askajli’s technology is, I’m surprised at least some of our sensors didn’t detect the attack, and I’m surprised they even tracked us there. Maybe the power went down for a second and that’s why we didn’t see them, but that still couldn’t explain how they even found us in the first place. I have a suspicion that there’s a mole somewhere in our crew.” Leia explains.

Poe agrees, albeit a little halfheartedly. Strategy is of the utmost importance, he’ll drink to that, but all he wants right now is to make sure both Finn and BB-8 are safe.

“Oh, and I picked up somebody on my way out of the base,” Leia says, and despite the situation, Poe can hear the smile playing on her lips. In the background, he can hear the angry beeping of BB-8, cursing Poe out for the fact that he left the planet without first checking to see whether BB-8 was with him or not. Poe grins, despite it all. There's one thing good in the universe tonight, and it certainly isn't here, but the love Leia showed toward him and BB-8 even when the battle raged behind her gives Poe a glimmer of hope that maybe it'll come back to them one day. But it fades when Leia asks her next question.

“Does anybody have eyes on Finn?”

His smile falters. “No. I was hoping you’d have a different answer than me.”

“Let’s hope someone got him out in time.” Leia says right before cutting their connection, off hopefully find another Resistance ship with some good news,

More time passes and his hands are gripping the controls so tightly he feels they’re going to snap off at any given moment, but keep holding on because they’re the only physical things he can focus on. The heartbeat of the ship thrums under his fingers like an old friend, familiar with every second.

 

* * *

 

_This is the first time he’s ever flown solo:_

_It was two weeks after the news that shattered his soul and he had barely gone back inside since her passing. Everything seemed tainted with her ghost: everything, from the trees that protect them against the harsher elements, to their little cottage that still smelled of her familiar scent of pine and adventure, to the leather jacket his dad gave him last year that was six sizes too big and bore the symbol of the rebellion on its trusty leather._

_There was a ring that lives on a string on her nightstand, one with a note deeming Poe its new owner and swearing that he should wear it until he finds the right person to share it with. He mustered up the courage to place it around his neck eventually, but that won’t come until he’s 10 and dreaming of the skies. Right now, he hadn’t been inside for a week because of the haunting._

_He was looking up at the old A-wing, the one he had gotten to know like a brother, and he had an idea. He looked both ways over his shoulder to make sure nobody was watching him, and he carefully climbed inside. The sight of the control panel was simple to him, mundane and recognizable. Unchanging. He knew that this ship wouldn’t leave him, would always respond to him as if he flew it well. He knew this ship would trust Poe if Poe trusted it as well. He knew it would always bring him home, wherever that may be._

_Poe managed to turn it on, power it up, and lift off. The realization of the possibilities that lay ahead of him hit him so hard he lost his breath. Everywhere at his disposal, anywhere with the slide of a control. He could run, could fly, could never return to the place he once called home that stank with loss._

_But, as he thought about the future, his mind also wandered to the past. The feel of his mother against him when they flew, the routine beat of her heart against his. The look of tender caring across his father’s face when he sang him to sleep, the sheer protectiveness embedded in the creases of his face when he watched his wife twirl around the house. The light that emitted from their home, the light that was still there, even with just Poe and his dad to carry the torch._

_So, carefully, Poe brought the ship back to the ground. He wouldn’t run - yet. But the ship would be waiting for him the next time he needed it._

 

* * *

 

He gets a message from Lieutenant Connix. She’s okay and with 10 other people. Nobody has eyes on Finn.

* * *

 

“Dameron. _Dameron.”_ A sargent on the ship, Lleu Walsh, tries to get Poe’s attention. With a snap, he takes his eyes off the windshield momentarily.

“What?” He asks.

“You’ve been sitting there for _six hours._ Get some rest. One of us can take over,” Walsh pleads, eyeing Poe’s hands (which had started to shake slightly some time during the past hour).

“I can’t. Not until I find out who else has made it out.” He turns his attention back to his controls, his ship. With a sigh, Walsh walks away.

 

* * *

Soon, all but the Millenium Falcon has radioed in.

Nobody has eyes on Finn.

 

* * *

 

The seventh hour in, he gets a new transmission. It’s Rey, finally calling in from the Falcon after many unsuccessful attempts. Their connection is a little rocky and shorts out from time to time, but they’re talking. That’s a start.

“ _...Bl-- Leader, do you copy?”_

“Yes, I copy. Who is this?”  
“ _This is the Rey. The… ship’s a little banged up but we’re-- fifteen of us, all acc…”_

“That’s fantastic, Rey. Where are you closest to right now?”

“... _Few miles short of Fouter.”_

“Great. Our vantage point is on Naboo, do you think you have enough fuel to make it until then?”

Poe can't tell whether the short quiet on Rey's end is their comms failing or Rey not wanting to comment on the matter.

“ _We’ll be cutting it a little close but we’ll… probably in a few hours or so.”_

Poe hopes that whatever the comms chose to cut out was good news.

“Great, then we’ll hopefully see you in a few hours. Also…” he held his breath. Last ship to ask, last strand of hope. “Do you have eyes on Finn?”

“ _Finn--_ ”

It’s that moment when the comms decide they want to cut out. Poe yells in frustration, slamming his hands down on the control panel hard enough to bruise his knuckles.

“Damn it!!”

“Uh, everything okay up there?” Lleu yells from the back.

“Hopefully. I don’t know. We’ll find out.” Poe sighs and rubs the ring hanging around his neck. Too many lives were in danger, too much information unknown. If he had to deal with losing Finn as well, knowing that it was at least partially his fault, that he didn’t stop his friend from dashing into battle, knowing that he didn’t try hard enough to save him, to get him out--

He focuses on the steadiness of the ship again, knowing that if he starts down this path he’ll never leave it. He can’t afford to think of this now, not when there are other on this ship with him that need to him to stay stable. He has to forget Finn for now.

But the cold burn of his mother’s ring against his chest is telling him the opposite.

 

* * *

 

Naboo was one of those planets with a history you learned about in class and a city you never visited. After the rise of Vader it had fallen to pieces, the grand architecture crumbling to bits as time wore on. People started leaving after Queen Amidala died, sensing something bad was yet to come, a shadow descending on the planet and swallowing cities in its sadness. A mass migration ensued, leaving only hallowed halls hollowed by something that could’ve been great, once upon a time. Legends began to grow about the forgotten planet; some claimed it was haunted, others cursed. Nobody had a great opinion on the place and nobody was really dying to go back.

It’s perfect for a scrappy Rebellion that needs a day to hideout, find the leak, and cover it before any smoke can escape. They’ll soon send word out to their allies and find a much more permanent home. For now, Naboo will do.

They land next to where the throne room used to be, where already one or two ships are waiting for them. Hugs and reunions ensue, careful counting of the wounded, analysis of how much fuel is left in each ship, how long each ship could last in the face of another attack. Poe is running around, checking in with each fighter, inspecting each ship, collecting food and water, running, running, running. He isn’t stopping to think about _him_ who could be shot through the side or broken in the spine, alive but injured-- If he stops to think about _him,_ he would crash and his stability along with it. The better option was to just keep moving until his feet sinks into the ground with the weight of everything that was happening. It wasn’t until he faints when talking to the 25th person to arrive on Naboo (Doctor Annice Vance, medic, uninjured, arrived ten minutes ago, worried) that he lies down where he is on the asphalt and takes a nap.

He dreams of Finn, falling through the sky faster than Poe’s fastest X-wing. For some reason, Poe’s in his mother’s old ship and no matter how fast he goes, he can’t catching up to Finn in time to save him.

 

* * *

 

 When he wakes, there are more ships around him. General Leia is doing the whole “General” thing and doing recon, checking in with the injured and calculating collateral. The Rebellion seems to have slowed while they wait for the last two ships to arrive. People are sitting, standing, some (like Poe) are passed out on the asphalt. The last 10 hours are settling in now that the adrenaline’s worn off and it’s hitting everyone hard.

Bones yelling in protest, Poe gets up and makes his way over to where Leia is standing. Despite the situation, she still looks as regal as she’s ever been, not a single strand of hair out of place in her meticulous updo. Her navy purple dress doesn’t have a rip or wrinkle and not one of her nails have been broken. Her stability relaxes Poe just the slightest bit - if General Leia Organa isn’t fazed by the attack, then it couldn’t have been all that bad.

“What’s the damage?” Poe asks, voice sounding like a broken window.

“It could’ve been worse. Obviously all the supplies we left on Askaji were lost but people managed to collect most things while they left. And so far, all the people that are missing are those that haven’t arrived yet, and there’s still another ship or two coming. As much as you’ll probably hate to admit it, things might’ve been much worse if Finn didn’t attack them head on. He managed to take out quite a few of them and provide enough of a distraction for us to escape” Leia explains.

“That’s… good. Very good.”

“A little suspicious, though. Why would the First Order attack if their plan wasn’t to kill? And they definitely didn’t attack with everything they had. They barely had enough ships to follow us and we managed to lose them pretty quickly, even in these hunks of garbage.” Leia takes a spare moment to glance around at the scene in front of her, the few dozen that have stayed against all odds and now lay in front of her, some weeping, but all alive. 

Poe’s tired brain tries to come up with some sort of explanation, sending halfhearted thoughts through the darkened hallways of his mind. They keep getting lost in his exhaustion and worry, everything floating back to a certain boy he last saw running away from safety. Finally, he yanks something vaguely like an explanation together “I think they were looking for something. Maybe Rey. But if we have a mole, wouldn’t they already know our plans? Where we’d be attacking? Wouldn’t they be focusing their attention on protecting their resources?”

“Unless… Unless they didn’t know of our plans. Unless they were trying to find some wind of them.” Poe could almost see the light bulb go off over Leia’s head. “Quick, who wasn’t at the debrief yesterday?”

Poe scoured his muddled brain. “Um… Only the people who were injured or tending to them. Norris Davids, Cletis Kou, Indra Tennison, Rose Tico, Cenric Gibson, Annice Vance, Lleu Walsh…” I think that it.”

“It can’t be Rose, for obvious reasons. And I trust Davids, Vance, and Gibson for the most part. They’ve been with us since the days of the Republic.”

Poe nods. “And most of the others were passed out or bleeding. The only one that wasn’t was-”

“Lleu Walsh. And she only joined pretty recently. Doesn’t have many friends. Never been in battle.” Leia finishes. She looks at Poe, a smile playing at her lips. For the first time since Holdo’s sacrifice, the General comes back in full force. “I think we have a lead on our mole.”

It’s at the moment when the Falcon decides to touch down on Naboo. Poe’s already racing away to meet it, rushing up and into the ship as soon as the doors are open, rushing past the other Resistance that are filing out.

“Is he here? Is here alive? Oh god, please tell me you guys have him.” He races past Rey who tries to catch him and calm him down, but there’s no stopping hurricane Dameron. He’s scouring every corner of the ship, eyes clouded by every worst case scenario.

Finally, he hears it.

“Oh, thank _god._ ” Poe crashes into his friend and pulls him into a fierce hug, burying his head in his shoulder. He’s _here_ and he’s _alive_ and he’s _not dead_ and _everything will be okay._ Poe holds him tighter, afraid that if he lets go Finn will disappear from right in front of him and he’ll go back to the constant state of panic he’s been experiencing for the past day.

“I was so worried about you,” Poe whispers. These words are only for Finn.

“Me too.” Finn whispers back.

Finally, they pull apart. And Poe starts to get _mad._

“What the _hell_ were you thinking? I specifically told you _not_ to go into that battle. What if you had gotten injured? What if you had gotten _killed?_ Or captured? You put the _entire_ Rebellion at risk because you wouldn’t listen to me when I told you to get on a stupid ship!”

“Poe-”

“No. I don’t want to hear it. Do you know how utterly disappointed I am in you? Do you know how scared I was? Do you know how scared we all were?”

“Poe-”

It was just then when Poe saw the white bandage wrapping around Finn’s torso, visible underneath his tan shirt. There was a red stain on it, long since dried but still gut-twisting to look at.

“You have thirty seconds to tell me what happened before I punch you.”

 

* * *

 

 So, turns out Finn got shot.

It happened right before Rey picked him up. He was blasting everything in sight, trying to get as many people down as possible before he himself got taken down. The adrenaline was pumping in his ears, the heat of battle flowing in his blood. He felt immortal as he took down his enemies. _This_ is where he belonged - in the heat of battle, not in some stuffy room talking about ways to take down the First Order from the inside. _This_ is what he was made to do do. _This-_

A blast, fire in his abdomen, and suddenly Finn went down.

Even through the pain, he knew he couldn’t fight like this, not alone and with a hole in his gut. He felt his vision slipping, his consciousness fading. The world narrowed, fading at the edges. There was a bright light, something large and majestic coming for him…

Something that looked just like the Falcon.

Wait a second--

The cargo doors opened and he felt himself being helped inside by strong, familiar hands. He had one thought before he passed out: “ _Poe-”_

 

“You’re telling me. That you got shot. After rushing recklessly into battle. Against your Commander’s orders. And you got _shot._ ” Poe growls.

“I- yes.”

“What in hell were you thinking?”

“I was _thinking_ ,” Finn said, suddenly angrier, “That I wanted to protect the people I love. I was thinking I’d rather go down in action in hopes that you would make it out rather than do nothing and see you go down in front of my eyes. I was thinking that one Stormtrooper dead is one less for us to fight in the future. And we got out, didn’t we? We’re here, safe, and even though I’m hurt, no one else is. So are you going to tell me what _you_ were thinking when you told me to leave?”

 

* * *

 

_The third time he was truly scared was when he was captured by the First Order. He betrayed his friends, his family, everyone he had ever loved, just because he couldn’t keep his secrets in when some half-rate goth started poking around in his mind._

_He was terrified._

_Not just for himself, but for Leia. For Jessika. For Snap. What were they going to have to endure because he made a mistake?_

_The moment when the stormtrooper came to escort him to his death was the most ready for anything he had ever been in his life. He braced himself for the cold bite of the blaster against his skin right before the trigger would be pulled, prepared for the burn of the blast and then the empty feeling like the sky at night._

_But then he didn’t have to._

  _He didn’t have to because this miracle of a man, this daring, fantastic, miracle of a man did the unspeakable and actually took off his helmet. And he helped him escape._

 _He was reborn that day. He had accepted death so completely, so utterly that the idea of living was even more outrageous than the act of dying. And then he lived. With Finn._ _  
_ _And then he lost him._

_The day Poe saw Finn on that base was like he saw the world in color again. He couldn’t believe Finn had also made it out and were here and ready to fight. He was alive. They were alive. And he remembers thinking there’s no other person he wants to be alive with._

 

_The fourth time he was truly scared was just a few days ago. Finn came back from the First Order without a scratch and even though their plan failed, they were still roaring to fight. This was a chance, their chance to take on the First Order directly. And they didn’t do very well. Lives were lost. And Finn. He saw that cannon and there was only one thought in his mind. He wanted to save everyone, save them all, charge right into battle and slaughter the First Order. And when he turned his sights to the cannon, Poe knew he had lost him. What did he think would happen when he turned off the comms, huh? Poe would just sit back, all pretty and watch Finn hurdle himself into the fucking sun? He was ready to die, and for what? For the cause? Or for Finn’s need to prove himself to others?_

_There is now a fifth._

_The fifth was seeing Finn charge into battle literal hours ago, not caring about whether he lived or died or the destruction of the ones who would miss him most._

  _All he could see was the face of the his dad when he told Poe she hadn’t made it. The helplessness. The shock. He saw Finn right before they crash-landed on Jakku. He saw the trees from when he was six, in the air for the first time. And when Finn ran into that battle on Askaji, he was going to relive all of it._

 

* * *

 

 “You know what I was thinking, Finn? I was thinking about getting the news from General Organa that you didn’t make it out. I was thinking about the death toll made just one digit higher because one idiot decided to throw himself into battle when he didn’t need to. I was thinking about how little we had an how much we could lose by just one person throwing their life away.”

“So this is just an issue of numbers.” Finn snaps.

“You didn’t let me finish. I was thinking of that day on Jakku where I thought I lost you, that crushing grief that plagued me until I saw you again on D’Qar. I was thinking about seeing your dead body on the ground, trampled by Stormtroopers who didn’t give a shit about who you really were. I was thinking about seeing you in a coffin. I was thinking about my best friend _dead_ because of something I could’ve done to save him, stop him,  _anything._ I was thinking of losing you _again_ and having to go through all that again but permanently because you were gone and there’s nothing me or anyone can do. I’ll tell you what I was thinking, Finn. I was thinking about _you._ Were you thinking about me?” He shoves down the cracks in his voice, the mist rising behind his eyes.

There’s no answer from Finn.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.” Poe turns and leaves, not looking back.

 

* * *

 

It’s been three days since they’ve landed on Naboo and they still haven’t left. The corroding throne room has turned into makeshift mission control, the various floors underneath the barracks, and everything else turned into whatever’s needed at the moment. Although there are grumbles of the condition, the buildings that haven’t been cleaned in thirty years, they have to admit it’s a little nice having having a place where they don’t have to answer to some sort of catering government. Their surroundings match their attitude, starting at square 1 with one goal in mind and no way of getting there. A little haunted, a little jaded, a little crumbly, but something shiny and valuable hid just underneath the mud. 

At first, the mood is down. People nap. People eat. People tend to their wounds and fix their ships. People are jumpy, carrying their blasters everywhere. They’re all on edge once again, anticipating another attack at any minute. People are distrustful of one another, refusing to talk to one another during meals. They won’t reveal any of their thoughts, afraid anything they say will be held against them. Talk of the ocean is long forgotten.

Poe sleeps with his blaster under his pillow, fingers curled around it just in case anything were to go bump in the night.

His nightmares return. Terrible terrors of Finn bleeding out in front of him while Poe’s restrained by Stormtroopers, visions of Kylo Ren slaughtering Leia and slicing Rey apart with his red lightsaber. Sometimes he dreams of being paralyzed the way he was when he encountered Kylo Ren face-to-face for the first time, the Force trapping him in one spot while his blaster buzzes in front of him, unmoving. More often than not he’ll see Finn back in that Stormtrooper uniform, keeping his helmet on and leading Poe to his execution. No matter the nightmare he always ends up waking up screaming, blaster in hand, aiming recklessly at the shadows on the walls, still immersed in whatever horror his mind concocted for him. Sometimes whoever’s in the next room over will peek in and ask if everything’s already and he’ll lie and say that everything’s _fantastic_ so no one has to worry about him.

The next day he’ll always glance at the shadows in the crevices of his face, ruffle his curls so they no longer look like a rat’s nest, and go find Leia to find out the plan for that day.

 

* * *

 

Things are slow. The Rebellion is limping, licking its wounds. Everyone is jumpy, afraid to act.

That is, until the first X-wing arrives.

At first, everyone is shocked. From the moment it’s visible in the sky Poe has his blaster drawn and has taken cover behind a couple of cargo boxes, yelling at others to do the same. No one’s shooting though, at Poe’s instruction: he figures he might as well find out what this person is here for before blasting them into oblivion. Finally the X-wing lands and Poe advances, blaster pointed at the person slowly emerging from the top, hands raised in surrender.

The pilot is a young girl, probably 17 or 18 years of age. She seems to be a Elomin, with lilac skin, small nose tusks, and horns poking out of the top of her head. There’s no weapons Poe can see and a hopeful, slightly naive look on the girl's face, so he raises his fist calling for everyone around him to stand down.

“Who the hell are you?” He yells. Not the most diplomatic he’s ever been in his life, but he’s had a long week and his hands are still shaking from last night's terror.

“My name is Reva Rowland. I’ve come to join the Resistance,” she calls. “Permission to approach?”  
“Permission granted.” She jumps down from her X-wing, landing gracefully on the ground and strolling over to where Poe is standing, his blaster still in hand.

“Who might you be?” She asks, not rudely, but curiously. This probably isn’t what she was thinking of when she sought them out.

“Commander Poe Dameron.” He places his blaster back in its holder, still wary of this mysterious stranger. “How did you find us?”

“I’ve heard whispers of the Rebellion hiding out in Naboo. Nothing confirmed, and nothing from the First Order. I’ve been following you guys for months. I’m from Elom. The First Order completely took over a few weeks ago and we’ve been itching to fight. I figured you guys might need some help.”

Poe exchanges a glance with Connix who still has her blaster up.

“I think you should talk to the General.”

 

* * *

 

 “Her story checks out,” The General tells Poe after a thorough interrogation. “I checked with my contact on Elom. Everything she says is true, and if we let her join, she says a bunch of her friends and family will come with supplies as well. This could be the beginning of a new wave of recruits.”

“How do we know we can trust her, though? She could be a spy. We still have Lleu running loose, we another one would make things worse.”

“We’ll have with Lleu by the end of the week. We’ve finally gotten confirmation that she _is_ actually working for the First Order and it’s not just us being paranoid.”

“That’s fantastic. But what are we going to do about this new girl?”

“We’re going to have to trust her. What other choice do we have? This is how rebellions are built.”

 

* * *

 

By the third X-wing’s arrival, Poe starts to believe. It’s been five days since the First Order’s surprise attack on Askaji and there’s been no fiery death explosions in the sky. Lleu Walsh has disappeared, but she didn’t go down quietly. There’s rumor she put three other fighters in the medbay before being sedated. Since then, there’s been no wind of the First Order.

Of course, that doesn’t mean the Rebellion’s stopped tracking the First Order’s movements. Their spies tell them that Kylo is going crazy trying to find Rey’s location.

“Wasn’t he able to connect with you over the Force? Didn’t you mention that to Leia?” Poe asks Rey when he hears this.

“Yes, but I haven’t heard from him since that day on Crait. Of course, I haven’t exactly been trying to find him through the Force, and I don’t think he’s trying that hard either.”

“Well, if you’re comfortable with it, try getting as much info as you can with that ‘connection’ of yours. We’re going to smoke that emo weenie out of the water.”

By the end of the week, they’ve reached ten new people, four X-wings, an A-wing, a cargo ship, and a whole lot of new supplies. Plus, a new comm system which makes Poe whoop with excitement.

They’re a long way off from where they used to be. But it’s a start.

Their surroundings begin to change as well, and Naboo becomes less a shelter and more of a base. The throne room remains their control center, consisting of some comfortable chairs, a (temporary) control panel made out of spare parts, the new comm set, and a map showing the First Order’s biggest manufacturers and their smaller, less defended planets marked in red marker. The floors beneath have become barracks, the floors under those the medbay. What used to be the biggest palace on the planet has turned into a home for the wanderers of the galaxy who are itching for a fight.  
It’s a start.

There’s one new addition to the control room that nobody really expected: Poe. He’s (temporarily, he swears) hung up his helmet and moved next to Leia’s side, strategizing every day until the sky turns black. Together they configure where each new member would fit, who to promote in this new world, which ships would survive the toughest missions, who to send when they finally pulled out the big guns and go in on the Order.

Poe’s in charge of sending out word to other planets about who to meet if they want to join. He figured since people are showing up anyway, might as well do it in an orderly fashion, right? Besides, he's always been good at sweet talking. He might as well do it for a cause. Poe sets up a place to send supplies to as well, which are then sent directly to the Rebellion, for people who want to support but aren’t able to hightail it over to Naboo.

And it works.

There’s news of citizen uprisings against their First Order representatives on their planets, news of civilians muttering about a new Jedi order. Luke Skywalker’s name is a battle cry, a dirty secret whispered in the alleys, a curse, a slur against the First Order, a symbol of everything it once was.

And with that name is Rey. Rey, the face of everything people hope for and want to see and are trying to achieve. Rey, without her last name or fancy legacy or royal blood coursing through her veins. Rey, with the same blood that pumps through the heart of every organism in the galaxy. Rey, the girl from nowhere who’s being whispered about everywhere.

There are also stories being weaved about Finn, the Stormtrooper who made it out. People see him as a way of showing that things change, people change, evil can be fought and destroyed and the very workings of an empire can be turned against them. If Rey is the heart, then Finn is the eyes, allowing people to see the potential those around them hold, the potential to always, always,  _always_ choose good even when surrounded by the darkest force in the galaxy.

And although Poe turns a deaf ear to them, there are rumors about him too, mainly within the rebellion. Whispers follow him like his shadow while he works, people talking about the man they once saw as a reliable but cocky pilot who always put the goal above everything, whether that ends well or badly. He's not quite sure where he fits, but he's heard some people call him the soul. The driving core of the change, forever present and there to hold them accountable and tied to their roots. (He's heard people complain he's poison too, but he also ignores those. He doesn't let himself believe it unless it's late at night and his dead friends and the blood that follows him when he walks remind him).

Poe still knows he has a long way to go to earn their respect, and he doesn’t expect it. In fact, after everything he did with Holdo, he's not quite sure he deserves it. So he keeps working, night after night, forfeiting sleep and occasionally food and most often peace of mind to send word out to other planets _now is the time to help._

Finn would sometimes check up with him at first. “When was the last time you ate?” He’d ask. “Or the last time you slept?”

Poe would always wave him off, tossing out witty remarks and stifling yawns. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he’d say sometimes, refusing to look at the stiff way Finn held himself, still moving around his injury.

After the seventh day on Naboo and his third consecutive day without leaving the control center, Finn doesn’t show. This doesn’t surprise Poe, (and definitely doesn’t disappoint him, nosireebob), but he feels the absence in the air even with people coming and going, asking him various questions about their ships and telling him who’ll be coming to that Naboo that day so he doesn’t shoot them out of the sky. He nods and claps them on the back and laughs with them and turns down their offers to cover for him while he gets something to eat. Eventually, on the ninth day on Naboo, Leia begins to notice and forces him to get some natural sunlight and a cup of coffee (“that’s an order from your general!” she says to him, “don’t come back until you’ve taken a nap, or else I’m demoting you down to private and kicking you out of this control room so hard you’ll feel it for weeks!”)

So he does.

The sunlight is strange on his face, an unfamiliar feeling after the darkness of space and the weak windows of the room he's trapped himself in. His bones yearn for the sky, for the leather of his ships, the calluses on his fingers missing the pillow of the controllers on his skin. More importantly, he missed sleeping in a real bed, not just a corner he's deemed “his” in the control room for nights he couldn’t bother to leave, just in case an urgent message came through that somebody needed to answer. Besides, the thrum and constant movement of the machines and the people in the room helped keep his nightmares away. But before that he allows himself some peace, there’s someone he’s dying to see.

He spots Finn outside with Rose who’s hunched over one of the newer Y-wings of theirs. It’s in bad shape, but Poe knows of Rose’s craftsmanship. He’d trust her to fix anything or anyone broken, bruised, or destroyed. The two of them are chuckling at a joke, Rose more bright than Poe’s ever seen her. Her eyes light up when she sees Poe approaching. Even though Poe’s probably had roughly three conversations with her up to this point, Rose seems like the type of person who makes the room feel a just a little bit brighter when she walks in.

“Hi, Poe! Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s the control room treating you?” She asks.

Despite his current exhaustion, Poe grins. Rose Tico could charm the stars.

“Exhausting. I was wondering if I could steal Finn for a moment before I crash for the next 72 hours?”

“Sure, just make sure to have him home by dinner. And no funny business!” Rose winks before disappearing underneath the Y-wing.  

Finn hops up from where he was sitting on the Y-wing and playing with a wrench. “What’s up?”

“Walk with me?”

“Sure.”

They walk. It’s nice.

“So, what have you been up to since I’ve been hiding away in the control center?”

“Not much. Been learning to fix ships. Lend a helping hand here or there. I’ve also been helping train the new recruits. I guess I’m pretty good with a blaster. They’re fast learners, too. They all want to help, no matter where they come from. They all have a story.”

“Finn, I-”

“What’s your story?” Finn asks, a little rough around the edges. “I know why I’m here. I know why Rose is here. Hell, I even know why Rey’s here. Why are you here? Why are you pulling yourself apart to be here?”

Poe swallows. “It’s the right thing to do.”

“That’s not the whole story, though. Start from the beginning.”

He hesitates. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Poe. You’ve given me a lot. A jacket, a name, a fight. A reason to stay instead of bailing or hopping on the nearest escape pod and creating a new life as a merchant on Jakku. I won’t ask anything else of you. But please, give me this. I want to know you, Poe. _I want to know why this fight matters to you.”_  Finn stops and puts his hand on Poe’s shoulder. “Please.”

Poe sighs. He’s a sucker for those brown eyes. “It’s not very exciting," he starts, looking for an escape. "I grew up in a small sector in Yavin 4 with my dad and my mom. They were gone for a while, y’know, fighting with the Rebel Alliance against the Empire. My mom was a pilot, the best one I knew. She could fly _anything._ She had eyes that were made for the stars." He remembers the way she smelled after a mission, like sweat and leather and the lingering feel of adrenaline. "When she came home, she said she was done with fighting forever. Family was her new priority. Me and dad and our little house. Maybe a pet in the future. But she couldn't keep away from flying for long, so she decided to take me with her. That’s how I learned - from her.”

“She sounds amazing.” Finn adds, maybe a little wistfully.

“She was.”

“Was?”

“Sickness took her when I was eight. It never gave her back.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too." He hurries away from that specific topic of conversation. "Anyway, I started flying in her ship and I figured I might as well continue. I won’t lie, that’s one the reasons I’m here. To fly. To never look down. And to be honest, those were the only reasons I had for a while. Blowing stuff up. Looking flashy. Impressing cute boys. I once did four consecutive loop-de-loops in my X-wing during battle simply because Leia told me not to.”

“Wow.”

“I know. I sucked.”

“No I meant four loop-de-loops? That’s nuts.” Finn giggles a little bit, shoulder brushing against Poe's, leaning into the story and the hum of Poe's voice.

“That’s not the point, though. It wasn’t until I saw what I had to lose that I started thinking more seriously. Looking tough isn’t everything, Finn. This… This is everything.” He gestures vaguely at the base, the people milling around doing their everyday work. People laughing. People smiling. People joking and pushing each other other, humming under their breaths while they worked. Some people crying, mourning, telling the tales of the dead. People _living_.

“This is why I’m here. Losing life has shown me just how much I have to lose if I don’t fight. So more children don’t have to wake up and find out their mothers are gone.”

Finn was quiet as they watched together. Finally, after a few minutes, he speaks quietly, thoughtfully. “I think I get it now.”

“Hmm?” Poe asked, tearing his attention away and back to Finn.

“I think I get it a little more.Talking with Rey and Rose also helped. Rose is here to help people like her. To make sure that nobody has to grow up in chains. To make sure everyone has a fair crack at the world. To avenge those that have died and hurt for her. To protect." Pausing, Finn scrambles for the right words for his big ideas. "Rey, Rey is here because she wouldn’t be anything without hope. Hope of a better life, for a better family kept her alive and fighting for so long. Now she’s here hoping for a better world, a world where she can teach others like her and help the ones who aren’t. Leia is here because she knows the world deserves better.”

“Then why are _you_ here, Finn?” Poe asks softly, gently.

“I’m here for my friends. The same reason I wanted to desert in the first place. I’m here to make sure they live. That they get their goals. That they’re safe and happy. That nothing hurts them. And now I see that a blaster isn’t the only way to save them.” He's avoiding Poe's eyes now, a little scared of the words that just came out of his mouth. They're naked and revealing, showing a softer side of him to the man who carries his dreams on his back. Since arriving here and talking to more people, different people, he's learned that words have more power than the First Order ever taught him. He's learned that the right ones have to come from him, and these are the rights ones. He can feel it in the way Poe's stare brush over his cheek.

“You’re a good man, Finn.” Poe claps Finn on the shoulder again, pulling him into a side-hug squeeze. “Welcome to the Resistance. I’m glad to call you my friend.”

Finn turns to face him, a little flushed from the outpouring he just gave. “There’s no one else I’d rather be commanding under.”

They walk back to the barracks together, meaningless conversation filling the space around them. Their words intertwine and knit together like words were intended to when they were first created, and Poe finds his mouth is a fire escape and the words escaping don't care where or why they're running. They only run to escape the fire in his head, finding solace in the kind smile and quiet laugh of Poe's new friend.

* * *

 

Poe takes the best damn nap. He doesn’t have a single nightmare.

 

* * *

 

Finn starts visiting again. At first it’s the same as before, just a few times a day to drop in and say hi, see how things are going before leaving again to attend to the next odd job. But as Poe grows more accustomed to his company, he stays longer and longer until they’re working side by side. They eat lunch and dinner together every day, and Poe even returns to a normal sleep schedule.

Naboo starts to feel like home. Poe finds himself a little bit in love sometimes, when the light hits the newly-cleaned windows just right, or when the sun peaks out over the horizon when he wakes up at the asscrack of dawn, or when the new recruits train and stamp over monuments to former glory. He tells himself it's just the light, just the same sky he's always loved, but there's a shared camaraderie with the planet that's housed them, and they all pause for a moment when the sun sets and share a grin.

It’s busier now, with multitudes of ships arriving daily. They’ve organized, so they know who’s arriving and when, and there designated places for newcomers to arrive within the planet so the ships don’t just land anywhere, potentially endangering anybody who might be standing underneath. They’re more careful now as well, more cautious of who they’re promoting, who they’re telling their plans to, who they’re letting join. Lieutenant Connix has been promoted to Captain, Poe to Vice Admiral.

“You’re promoting _me?_ After everything? Shouldn’t you promote, like _literally anybody_ else?” Poe asks when Leia tells him the news.

“You’ve earned this. Just don’t blow it.” She responds.

 _Vice Admiral._ It felt weird in his mouth. Unfamiliar. It didn’t feel right with his name. What kind of title is ‘ _Vice Admiral Poe Dameron’_? A weird one. But what can Poe do? So he puts on the metaphorical shoes and plans to grow into them.

The same day, more people - and machines - join the control room. The improvised control board made of old ship parts is scrapped, literally, and replaced with a proper one. Comms are connected to every ship, not just a few lucky ones. Screens light up the room and different stations line the wall, facing outwards and towards the sky. There’s now a station for communication with other planets, a station for communicating with the pilots, a just-in-case station, a place for monitoring suspicious activity, etc. etc. until there’s no more barren corners to take a nap in and there’s no such thing as a quiet moment. And in the center of this makeshift universe is the what Poe’s grown to call the Hub. It does everything short of make a cup of coffee. The direct line to the entire Rebellion.

(Some jokester’s placed a little hula-dancer bobblehead next to one of the panels. Nobody wants to be the one to ruin everyone’s fun, so they leave it. Eventually somebody names it Smile-lo Ren and it just sticks).

Poe looks around at this new universe they’ve created in only three weeks. Three weeks of toil and spreading rumors about the First Order and spreading propaganda about Rey and the Jedi and no sleep and nearly throwing himself off the edge for the cause. Of course, Kylo’s new reign of terror has also helped their recruitment status, but nobody really wants to give him credit for that.

Things are also getting better with Finn, and Rose as well. Sometimes she’ll join them for meals and tell amazing stories of her home planet, deep-rooted tales of hope where love always prospers in the end. She’s grown to be good friends with Rey as well, sometimes ditching Finn and Poe in the evenings to spend a night joking and drinking with her.

Some nights, when the two of them are left alone, they’ll head outside and compare the stars to the ones they saw on Askaji.

“The stars were always too close in the First Order. Always conquerable. Always something to be achieved. We were never allowed to just look at them.” Finn says.

“Y’know, that doesn’t really surprise me, knowing Kylo Ren. He never seemed like the type of person who took in the sights around him.”

“That’s an understatement.”

It’s probably close to midnight and they’re looking at the sky together instead of getting some much-needed sleep. Poe’s knees ache from standing all day and Finn’s back has been giving his issues, but that’s not stopping them from lying on the highest hill they can find and rambling their thoughts until their throats turn sore.

“Tell me something, Finn. Anything. Something you remember. A story. I don’t know.” Poe turns on his side to face Finn, who follows in turn. The air is sleepier, the warm night covering them like an old blanket.

“What do you want to hear?”

“Anything.”

“I’m not sure if I have anything interesting to say.” Finn shrugs.

“You always have something interesting to share.”

The sounds of night fill the air, humming in a sweet harmony drowning out the white noise of the Resistance base below. Finally, Finn’s voice joins them, a mellow thrum on top of the peace.

“When I was younger, there used to be this story that was passed around the bunks. Everybody had heard it at some point or another, and Phasma must’ve heard it at one point and not put a stop to it. Sometimes I wonder if she was the one who planted in the first place in order to scare us. No one really knows how it started.

“It’s this story of A2-9030. He was a Stormtrooper in the days of the Empire, back before Kylo. Before Luke Skywalker. Before Leia, even. He was a model Trooper, always followed instructions, always shot on command. People also joke about his incredible aim, but no one really believes that part. It’s hard to see in those damn masks. Even Vader is rumored to have heard of his skill, but he never got promoted for some reason. Said hever wanted promotion, either. He was a Trooper through and through. That's the part we always thought Phasma planted, because none of us could really believe it, you know? It was weird, even to us, to want to stay in one spot. Until one day, they said he took off his mask.

“No one’s really clear on how it happened. Some say that he was in the showers and simply lost it, or someone stole it. Some say it was blasted so badly in battle he had to ditch it or die. And a couple very brave people say he did it on purpose.”

_Finn’s probably 8 or 9 years old. No one knows their age in the First Order. It’s his sixth time hearing about A2-9030, and he knows the ending. Took off the mask, disappeared forever, whatever. He doesn't care about this new ending, or whatever twist they've thought of this week. He’s over it, just trying to get to the next meal without getting in trouble for spreading misinformation. He overhears some other kids speaking of it, and tries to ignore them. One phrase floats above their conversation, flying through the air until is hovers dangerously close to Finn’s ear. One phrase impossible to ignore._

_On purpose._

_Deserted._

_Never got caught._

“Nobody knows why he did it, yeah, but there have been rumors. I’ve heard someone say that he saw Vader’s face and it disgusted him so much he needed to leave. Another said he went to the Rebellion, ratted the Empire out like they were nothing.” Finn swallows, turning his gaze back to the sky of Naboo. “Some say he fell in love.”

“In love? With who? I didn’t think love existed in the First Order,” Poe says quietly, curious but trying not to ruin the sanctity of the story.

“Again, depends on who you ask. Another Stormtrooper, a Rebellion fighter, with the spirit of adventure. Phasma always said that it was bullshit. Said that he ran away and was killed on the spot. He was always a bit like the boogeyman in that way - used to scare us back into our beds so we wouldn’t go wandering at night. 'Go back to bed or you'll end up like ol' A2-9030!' There was always one interpretation of the ending that was my personal favorite, even though it’s a little nuts and I’ve only heard it once.”

“Oh, yeah? Which was that?”

“He fell in love with the stars. I liked to think he went to join them. He threw himself so deeply in love he became the very thing he wanted most.” Finn looks away, a little embarrassed. “It’s a little dumb phrased that way.”

“No, not at all,” Poe whispers. “I think it’s beautiful.”

The man who became the stars.

The man who fell in love with the sky.

It’s everything Poe can do to stop himself from kissing this man of the sky who’s lying next to him, looking up at the constellations with the sun in his heart. Instead, he moved closer to him until his head is resting on Finn’s chest and he can hear the sounds of the universe to the beat of Finn’s heart.

 

* * *

 

That night, Poe goes to sleep smiling. His blaster, for once, isn’t under his pillow or curled in his hand and beside him in the small bunk. It’s not even smothered up in the blankets for him to scramble around and find in the post-nightmare confusion. Instead, it’s on the floor next to where he dumped his jacket, a good foot or two away from where he’s sleeping.

It’s not that far.

But it’s a start.

 

* * *

 

Things go to hell the next day.

It all starts during a briefing, as all terrible things tend to do. Poe’s never liked briefing, but this is a big one and after the Askaji Incident, only the most trusted are going to be there. Everyone else will be filled in later and then sprung into action the next day. Leia’s at the front of the room, as she should be, and she watches in regal silene as everybody files in. Finally, Finn is the last to enter, closing the door quietly behind him. Thick anticipation wafts in the air as Leia walks to the map where the planets are circled in red marker.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she says, drawing every ear to her side, “tomorrow we will begin planning our attacks on the First Order.”

The room stays silent as the shock of this statement set in with everyone in the room. Tomorrow? So soon? They’ve only been on Naboo for a short amount of time and even though they’ve expanded their fleets since the FIrst Order’s annihilation, the ships are rather mismatched and a little worn.

Leia expands on her initial statement. “This doesn’t mean we go and start bombarding the First Order first thing tomorrow morning. It means tomorrow, we start assembling our squadrons. We choose which planet to attack first, and where. Tomorrow we begin to plan out every variable, every person who will be involved in that attack, every detail down to the paint color of our ships. We’re leaving nothing up to chance, and we’re moving quickly. Connix, Finn, Willard, Eliot - start organizing who you think would be best on this mission. We need our best fliers, our best shooters, the most trusted. This can’t go south. Poe-” She turns her attention to Poe who stands up a little straighter, eager to get his ship off the ground again. “Poe, you’ll be manning this mission on the ground with me. You’ll have eyes on ears on everything. I’m trusting you to be my right arm.”

Wait.

_What?_

Poe… On the _ground?_

He gets it. Needs someone to make sure things don’t go south in all ends, not just with the pilots. Sure. But his boots can’t help but feel heavy as he walks out of the briefing, weighed to the floor.

 

* * *

 

The next week flies by in a fervor. The base is alive again, people training and flying and bickering about what they’re going to do and what the best course of action is. Poe, once again, barely moves from the Hub the whole week. The entire thing is planned and written down, right to the temperature of the planet and where in the galaxy Kylo Ren will be. Leia and Poe argue, as always, but it’s their friendly banter instead of earth-shattering disagreement. Things almost feel normal.

But the absence of Poe’s squadron hangs heavy on his mind at all time, especially when blue squadron comes in for their briefing. There are eight people in the squad total, five that Poe recognizes and three that he doesn’t. He offers handshakes to the new faces and smiles, going through all the motions. He’d already done this spiel before and he was tired, achingly, bone-settling tired, but still making an effort because he knew he had to. Blue squadron moved in a harmony that could only be achieved after covering each other’s asses in battles and Poe’s heart ached for those he used to move like that with. He can't focus on that now though, can't think of the late nights spent with them, the blood spilled for each other, so he put on his bravest face and launched into the briefing.

“So. You guys are our secret weapon. They won’t be expecting us to have this many ships so soon after an attack, and their defenses will be weakened by the ground forces. The shields surrounding the factory are small but strong. You’re gonna have to be reeeal close to get those blasted apart, and every pilot _hates_ fighting up close. While a few of you blasting apart that shield, the others are going to have to do everything in their power to keep the First Order ships away while the job gets done. Understood?” There’s nods and grumbles. For most, this isn’t their first rodeo.

“I’m sorry I won’t be out there with you. But I’ll be doing everything in my power to keep you all updated and safe from down here.” Poe says, signaling the end of the brief. “Oh, and one more thing,” he adds at them before they’re about to leave, “Come back alive.”

“Thanks, Vice Admiral Dameron,” one of them says, slapping him on the back on his way out.

“Please,” Poe grimaces, “call me Poe.”

 

* * *

 

Poe wakes up at 4AM on the day of the mission and knows he sure as well won’t get back to sleep so he might as well make the most of his time. He grabs a cup of coffee, goes for a run, and ignores the twisting rope of stress knotting in his stomach.

Everything will be fine.

 

* * *

 

 “Blue leader, this is Dameron, do you copy?”

“Copy. Ready and accounted for.”

“Do you have eyes on the base?”

“Sure do. Going in for it in 3… 2… 1…”

Poe closes his eyes as the sound of blaster fire fills his ears. The Hub is a whirlwind of information, 16 different comms linked up his and thirteen different screens giving him visual on every piece of the scene taking place a few million miles away. Both him and Leia are tap, tap, tapping away switching perspective, following the Stormtroopers that are now swarming the ground, and counting the number of enemy ships in the sky.

“Connix!” He shouts at her, who’s manning the missing from across the Hub, “how’re ground forces faring?”

“Blue leader, this is Dameron, do you copy?”

“Copy. Ready and accounted for.”

“Do you have eyes on the base?”

“Sure do. Going in for it in 3… 2… 1…”

Poe closes his eyes as the sound of blaster fire fills his ears. The Hub is a whirlwind of information, 16 different comms linked up his and thirteen different screens giving him visual on every piece of the scene taking place a few million miles away. Both him and Leia are tap, tap, tapping away switching perspective, following the Stormtroopers that are now swarming the ground, and counting the number of enemy ships in the sky.

“Connix!” He shouts at her, who’s manning the missing from across the Hub, “how’re ground forces faring?”

“Fantastic. Lowest casualty rate we’ve had in ages.” She swiped right on her screen showing the rebels fighting like hell against the Troopers that are swarming the area.

“Hell yeah! _This_ is how you bring back a rebellion!” Poe cheers. “Blue leader, how’re things looking on your end?”

“Pretty good so far. We’ve taken out six of their ships and Lexon’s getting close to breaking through the- _shit!”_

The comms heading to Blue Leader cut off suddenly. Poe watches his screen in horror as the x-wing gets a critical hit and his mind is filling with all the worst scenarios-

“Blue leader heading down!” Blue six says in his ear.

_Shit._

Poe slams his hand against the Hub, hating the helplessness of the situation. He should be out there, fighting by their side, taking the shots for them and protecting his people. Instead he’s _here_ doing _nothing-_

“Dameron!” Leia barks. “We need you here. Get your head with the program!”

So, Poe stops dreaming about the stars and starts thinking.

“Blue six, any word from Blue Leader?”

“None, sir. His ship’s still flying, but there’s no way for us to contact him.”

“Alright, I guess it could be worse. We’ve gone through worse than that. How is your progress on the shields?”

“Almost there, a few more minutes tops.”

“Alright, so this is what you’re going to do. Blue four, stop shooting those shields and make sure Blue Leader’s doing alright. And Blue Three?”

“Right here, currently fending off three TIE fighters.” Blue three adds to the discussion.

“We’re definitely not getting into heaven. Might as well raise a little hell, right?”

Poe can almost hear the smile in his voice. “On it, sir.” He flies off, doing elaborate stunts with the TIE fighters following him with very little baiting.

“Blue two, how’re you holding up?”

“A little bruised but still in the air.” A grunt on his end, and a whoop. “Last TIE fighter down! We’re in the clear for the next minute or so!”

Another cheer, this one from Blue six. “Shields are DOWN!”

“Hell yeah! You know what to do. Get on it.” Poe yells.

“With pleasure.” Sounds of blaster fire.

“Leia, are the ground forces evacuating?” Poe asks, forgetting in the heat of the moment to refer to her by her title.

“Nearly all of them are boarding the ships. There’s a few stragglers, including…”

Poe groans. “Finn?”

“Of course. Who else?”

He switches to the comm connecting to the ground forces. “Finn, I only have roughly thirty seconds to tell you this, but your Vice Admiral is telling you to get your ass on that ship as soon as possible. This place is five minutes away from blowing and you’re sure as hell not staying here while that happens. Do you copy?”

Static from Finn’s end.

“I said, do you copy? I _won’t_ be losing anyone today. Especially not you.”

“Poe-”

“That’s an _order._ Get on the goddamn ship.”

Some blaster fire and then static.

“Did he make it on the ship?” Poe asks Connix from across the table.

“I think so.”

“Good.” he breathes for a moment, actually breathes, and lets himself hope.

Cheers from Blue Squadron. “Factory is up in flames! Mission is a success. Heading back to base now.” Blue six shouts victoriously.

“Fantastic job, guys. Make sure Blue Leader comes back with you.”

“Will do, Cap.” The comms go quiet again.

For the first time all afternoon, the command center is completely silent. No background blaster fire, no chatter of Connix and General Organa, no screens transmitting constant noise.

Just Poe, Leia, and Connix.

Usually after the end of a mission he’d be victoriously returning back to back, cheering and flying loop-de-loops the entire way back. The adrenaline wouldn’t fade for at least three more hours and the high of battle would follow him the entire day up to the point where he went to sleep.

Not today, though. The adrenaline begins to fade almost immediately, replaced by the numbing silence in the room filling his bones and weighing them down. There’s an intense worry tramping his brain to pieces, worry about Finn and Blue Leader and casualties and what if the First Order follows them home? So many things could spiral out of control even though the mission is over.

Poe lifts his gaze from the Hub to the general’s warm brown eyes which mirror his rampant thoughts.

“You’ll always feel this way after a mission,” she says quietly, making her way across the room to where he’s standing, numb. “30 years and it hasn’t changed a bit.”

It’s everything Poe can do to stop himself from collapsing from exhaustion and dread and the amalgamation of every terrible thing that’s happened up to this point.

“It’s how you know you still care about the cause you’re fighting for.” She claps him on back gently and turns to leave the control center. “You did good, kid.”

 

* * *

 

There’s parties that night, like they usually are. Black squadron used to be the go-to squad for alcohol and a fun time. Poe used to enjoy the parties and the midnight smell of mild rebelliousness, even though everybody knew that Leia knew but would turn a helpful blind eye to the whole thing. Now, it just feels wrong. He knows he should be there though, if only for the spirit of it. First successful mission, the lowest casualty rate they’ve had in ages, and the official initiation of newbies into the Resistance. They’ve all survived their first mission, they’re now one of the lot. Toasts will be made: to Leia, to the Resistance, to Luke Skywalker, to the spirit of the fight. Some might be made to Poe, who in their eyes, has started to redeem himself after the Holdo fiasco. And most importantly, Finn will be there, who Poe is dying to see. So he ignores the dread in his stomach and plasters a smile on his face and heards to the bunk where the party is being held.

It’s in full swing when he enters, intergalactic pop blasting over some invisible speakers. Drinks have been passed out and there’s more being dispatched when he walks in, a beer pushed into his hand before he can refuse. An invisible hand pats him on the back and yells “ _take it, you’ve earned it_! _”_ over the music.

He drifts at first, taking slow sips of the beer for assimilation purposes and scans for his friends across the room. Finally he spots Rose who’s dancing solo in the middle of the room, tearing it up like it’s the end of the world. He walks up to her and her eyes brighten when she spots him.

“Poe!” She tackles him and Poe comes to the quick conclusion that she’s probably a little tipsy.

“Hey, Rose. Have you seen Finn? I’ve been looking everywhere for him.”

She shakes her head. “He went off with Rey about half and hour ago. I think he’ll be back soon.” She shimmies a little to the beat and after a moment, holds her hand out formally to Poe. “Care to dance, Vice Admiral?”

“I’d like nothing more.”

* * *

 

_His mother is dancing in the kitchen, dancing on her own to the beat of her heart while Poe watches on. He knows he has every right to be there, and was in fact there even before she started dancing. But there was something about the way she swayed like the world’s best waltz for one that Poe felt like he was intruding on some sort of deeply personal event. Just him watching while his mother danced to the low thrum of Poe’s dad’s voice._

 

* * *

 

Poe won’t admit this, but he loves dancing. The way one moves, either by themselves or with a partner or with a group was like a private conversation meant for their ears only. Admittedly, dancing with Rose Tico in the middle of a midnight post-mission party wasn’t the best place for conversation, but it was still the most damn fun Poe had in awhile. Rose Tico wasn’t the best dancer, but what she lacked in skill she made up with enthusiasm. They danced together for three songs and only stopped when she went to get another drink.

He stopped to absorb the scene around him. The lights low, people crammed together taking up every square foot of available space. The bitter smell of alcohol persisted in the air like a perfume.

And here everyone was, together. Bruised, broken, banged-up people moving as one in the wake of what could’ve been a scarring tragedy. Beautiful, bombastic people celebrating the living and toasting the dead as they forget about tomorrow and instead think about today.

Rose returns with another drink and nudges Poe, dragging him back into the moment.

“Your buddy’s here,” she says, pointing to Finn who’s just returned and looks very, very lost.

“Thanks for the dance, Rose. Maybe we can do this again some other time?” Poe says.

Rose nods. “Go have fun! I’ll see you later.”

Poe can’t help but allow his grin to slide wider on his face as he gets nearer to Finn.

“Hey, buddy.” Poe says, embracing his friend. “You enjoying yourself?”

Finn’s face breaks into a smile like the sun, one a little too big to be sober. “ _Poe._ It’s fantastic to see you! Are you seeing this?” he gestures wildly to the party. “This… thing people are doing? It’s called _dancing._ Look at it. _Dancing.”_

Poe laughs. “Yup, dancing. Uh, innocent question: how much have you had to drink?”

“Hmm… that’s a good question. This alcohol thing is really good. I think I’m going to get another one.” Finn says, reaching for the drink in the hand of the person next to him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Poe says, snagging Finn’s wrist before he can commit any acts of thievery. The song changes and Finn freezes.

“Are you hearing this?”

“This song? Yeah, buddy, I hear it. Listen, maybe you should be going to bed soon…”

“We never had music in the First Order. Or parties. Or… any of this.” Finn gestures wildly to the room, nearly toppling over.

“Yeah, I bet. When was the last time you ate?”

“Dance with me, Poe.” Finn’s hand suddenly cinches around around Poe’s and he’s being dragged to the center of the dance floor and his rational side tells him that it’s late and debrief tomorrow is going to suck if he does his, but his irrational side argues that it’s the end of the world and beautiful boy wants to dance so why the hell not?  
It’s not hard to figure out which side won.

So they dance.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Poe wakes up with a pounding headache and a smile on his face.

Debrief is short and victorious, and groundwork for future attacks are laid out. Another will follow in a week, and another almost immediately after that.

The attack start off well, with the First Order being caught off guard almost every time. As word about the attacks spread to every corner of the galaxy, the Rebellions gets more recruits than ever, so many that they have to expand the barracks to other buildings as well and the control center is expanded. More squadrons are made - Orange squadron, Yellow, Green, Purple. Blue is gifted a few promising recruits as well.

There’s no new Black squadron out of respect to the former team, all lost to the cruelties of battle. Except for Poe of course, but he doesn’t consider himself much of a pilot these days.

Missions are going so well that they don’t even need to send _everyone_ these days, sometimes dispatching several missions at once. The sixteen comms in the control room grow to 20, then 30, then 50. He’s manning six missions at once on the ground while Leia calls the remaining five and Connix providing anything else they might need to be successful.

People start to forgive. Not everybody, as the public opinion is hard to win over. There are less people glaring at Poe durning briefs, less talk of the mutiny, more responding to his heat-of-the-moment barked orders in battle.

People start to forgive. Not quickly, not everyone, but some. The newbies in the rebellion are the ones easiest to forgive, having only heard stories of the First Order’s fated attack and the lives lost. They’re outwardly hostile when he first introduces himself, the looks in their eyes going from excited to an intense hatred. They seem to change their minds the moment the blaster’s pressed into their hands and they’re told to fight for not only their lives, but everybody else’s lives.

They not might forgive him for what he did, but they certainly trust him not to make the same mistake again.

Then, a mission goes wrong.

Only one went downhill out of the three that were running that day, and only 10 people and three ships were lost. Old Poe, Commander Dameron, would’ve called this a success. He would’ve carried down to the party without a worry in his head, thinking about tomorrow’s adventures. It was different then. He still had his team, his ship, his innocence. Now the weight in his stomach, the one that usually sits like a stone after the end of every mission is rocketing around his intestines, bringing him to his knees and hunching him over. Every life lost was a new weight on his back, bringing him further away from his beloved sky.

Leia sees him in the control room hours after the mission ended, staring out the window, hands clenched tightly to his spot on the Hub. He’s unblinking, eyes vacantly staring at the three spots where the ships should’ve been. He hears her approaching but doesn’t look up.

“Does it always feel this way?” he asks quietly. It's a different feeling from the one he had earlier, after his first mission. Worse. Emptier, but fuller at the same time. The names of the dead sat heavy on his tongue, weighing down his bones and his soul until he can't even breathe.

She hesitates, then nods. “It’s how you know you still care about the people you’re fighting for. A rebellion is nothing without empathy.”

She takes his hand in hers, more gently than he’s ever seen her before. In this moment, she’s not only the war-ravaged general holding together the hopes of everyone with fate’s red string. She’s  a princess, a mother, a person. “You did good, kid. Sometimes a leader needs to know when to sacrifice an asset for the sake of everyone else.”

“But… they trusted me to get them out and I _failed_ _._ These are people that were waiting for my call, my strategy, my _something_  to get them out… And I failed. Those people died because of me. Those people had families and friends and pets and droids that will _never see them again_  because of a mistake I made.” His voice breaks, a tear fighting to spill out of the wall he’d built up around his eyes.

Leia’s quiet again. “It definitely feels that way, doesn’t it.” She turns to leave. “Never lose this feeling, Poe. Bury it inside your soul. Let it sprout, let it grow into something worth fighting for. _That’s_ how you know you’re a leader.”

 

* * *

 

_He’s standing on the same hill he was just lying on with Finn a few days earlier. He doesn’t know how he recognizes it though, because there’s nothing in front of him. Nothing. Just endless stretches of loneliness in front of his as far as the eye can see._

_Until he turns around._

_Naboo is in ruins. Buildings toppled, the throne boom imploded, bloody streaks lining the cobblestones of the streets. It’s a city that had clearly been attacked with an evacuation that hadn’t gone well. In the distance, there’s that smell the First Order carries with them wherever they go, that reek of sulfur and singed and a fire long-since burned down. Poe can’t see any survivors._

_“Poe…” he hears a broken voice behind him, a familiar tone that reminded Poe of home so clearly just a few hours before. He turns to see Finn sprawled on the ground, blaster in hand, eyes boring into Poe’s skull. His expression is nothing Poe’s ever seen on him before, an explosive mixture of fear and dismay and disgust and… Hatred. Pure, terrifying hatred aimed directly at Poe._

_Finn’s stomach is bloody. Poe’s stomach lurches, pulling him forward and down on his knees, desperately pressing his hands on the injury trying to clot the blood or slow the bleeding or do anything, anything at all to help Finn. But FInn slaps his hands away with more aggression than could be considered friendly._

_“Get your hands off me!” He roars, shoving Poe to the ground and stumbling to his feet, hands bracing his stomach._

_“Wh… what? Finn, what the hell is going on? Where is everyone? Why… why is everyone gone?” Poe stutters out, crawling backwards away from the approaching Finn._

_Finn snarls. “This was you! That was all your doing. You let it slip to the First Order where we were, you told them what was happening! You ratted is all out, and for what? Nothing. Everyone is dead, Poe. Because of you.”_

_“I… I did what? No, I’d never… Right? I swear, I’d never hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt anyone here.”_

_“Yeah, that’s what I thought. That’s what Holdo thought. That's what Snap and Jessika thought. That’s what Leia and Rey and Rose all thought before the First Order came and wiped them all out.” Finn stumbles to the ground, groaning as his wound gets the better of him. In the end, pain always wins over rage._

_“Finn, let me help you. Please. You’re going to die.” Poe pleads with the man, trying to salvage something, anything from this hellish situation.._

_“I’d rather die than accept the help of a traitor like you.” The blaster to Poe’s gut takes him by surprise and now he’s falling, falling through air and space and through the stars he so yearned to touch -_

Poe shoots away, scrambling for the blaster that should’ve been by his side no matter what _where is his blaster_ there’s sweat pouring down the back of his neck and down his hands and face and throat _where is his blaster_ he needs to fix this before it gets worse before Finn dies and everything is gone and it’s all his fault _WHERE IS HIS BLASTER-_

His hands grip around the cold, reassuring steel and he faces it towards whatever danger is advancing. He’s don’t going down without a fight this time, he’s rather die than give up his friends again and Kylo Ren can suck his _cold dead corpse-_

Poe lets loose a wild blast and it goes everywhere and nowhere until it blasts through the wall a few inches away from where the horror is standing, coming to take him and extract the secrets of the rebellion and he won’t let that happen again, he _won’t-_

“Poe?” The shadow says in disbelief, raising its hands towards the sky.

_Wait a minute._

“Show yourself!” Poe yells out in his best Admiral voice, scratchy and hoarse as sleep wears off his vocal chords.

The small shape of Rose Tico emerges from the doorway, trying not to look at the smoking hole in the wall only a hair’s breadth away from her face.

“What the hell happened to you?” she breathes.

Poe sighs, tosses the blaster aside, and rubs at his face. “I feel like I should be asking you that. Why are you in my barrack at-” he checks his watch, “2:13 AM?”

“I had to use the bathroom… Also, you were screaming and I was worried. What happened? Are you okay?” Rose says, edging closer to the bed. “Your hands are shaking.”

Poe shoves them underneath the blanket suspiciously. “Uhh, what? Nah, I’m fine. Fine. Totally.”

Rose shoots him that _look,_ the suspicious one that all women in the Resistance seem to have down pat. The one that knows you’re bullshitting but is waiting for you to admit it. (Leia’s famous for having this down so well that the moment it comes out everyone in the area scatters).

“So, I _might’ve_ had a bad dream, but it was nothing serious. I swear, a totally normal thing.” Poe admits, cleverly disguising the truth in a way no one will ever see through.

Rose raises an eyebrow. The Look is given.

He groans. “It was a nightmare! Fine! You got me! Are you happy now?”

“Not really.” She stands there in silence for a few moments, unsure of whether to reach back or go back her her bunk. Her hand drifts towards the half-moon pendant she wears on her neck before pushing it back down. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Poe thinks on that for a moment. Although he likes Rose a lot, he’s never sat down and had a real heart-to-heart with her. And he could feel sleep pulling at the edge of his consciousness, trying to drag him back down to nightmarish hell. But there’s a part of his brain telling him that if Finn trusts Rose, he could trust Rose and he might was well get it off his chest, right?

“What the hell, why not. Come sit.” So Rose walks over and perches herself on the corner of Poe’s bed and prepares to listen, because that’s what he needs her to do right now.

“Take your time,” she says, because she knows about this type of thing, knows the pain of waking up from a horrible reality to find that the one you’re living in isn’t all that better, “I’ll be here.”

So Poe tells her. “I was alone at first, which is pretty weird for my nightmares. I usually end up in some battle or another, or surrounded by the people I hate the most. But this time, I was alone. Or at least, I was at first. But then I turned around and I see these ruins of Naboo and everyone’s gone and I know something bad’s just happened but I wasn’t there to help…” He trails off for a moment, lost in the image of those disturbing bloodied streets and the haunted feel of a battle just lost. “And Finn was just _there_ and he was dying in front of me and he wouldn’t let me help him because it was all my fault he was there and dying and everyone was dead and the First Order had found out out us and Finn was _dead_ and it was _all my fault._ ” His voice shatters on those last three words, the words that had been playing on loop in his head for the past three weeks, the words he tried to drown out with work and talk and banter and more work in the control room and his fingerprints burned into the surface of the Hub. Because the reason they were here in Naboo and not on D’Qar with more people and more supplies and more _hope_

Holdo and Ackbar and Jessika and Wexley and Black Squadron and Paige Tico and almost Finn and Rose

All

His

_FAULT-_

_“POE!”_ Rose snaps him out of his haze but he’s still breathing heavily and the walls are crashing in on him and he sees the blasts from that battle that could’ve gone _so differently_ and Leia is floating away from him in space and there’s no way she can come back now and the red salt of Crait is surrounding his face staining his fingers and he _can’t see through all the red-_

“Breathe!” Rose urges him, making sure his blaster is very much out of his reach, “Poe, you can get out of wherever you are, but you need to  _breathe.”_

_Breathe._

_Breathe_

_B  r_

_e      a_

_t    h       e_

So Poe does.

He focuses on Rose’s hand next to him, the sound of her breathing, concentrating on the tiny details of her appearance. He makes himself focus on the shadows on her face, the worry consuming her dark eyes, the mess of her hair that only occurs at 2AM.

She’s here.

He’s here.

Everyone’s here.

“It’s not your fault,” Rose whispers quietly. “None of it. You were just doing what you thought was the best for the Rebellion. Do you hear me? This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

“Not my fault,” Poe mutter, more to himself than to Rose. “Not my… fault.”

It’s not his fault.

It’s  _not._

Suddenly, he pulls Rose into a tight hug. “Thank you for being here tonight.”

“Anytime,” she says back. “This is what friends are for.”

_Friends._

The word feels right in his mouth.

* * *

 

They lay off the missions for a week, instead focusing on training the newest newbies and fixing the ships. Strategizing, strategizing, strategizing. Poe and Leia spend hours in the control room scribbling diagrams on various whiteboards, thinking of every which way to attack their next planet. The First Order is more defensive now, after losing a good chunk of their weapons and ships to the Resistance’s relentless attacks, and definitely have more eyes out for approaching X-wings. Finn will visit him, like he did before, but this time Poe seems more distant, head filled with the possibilities of battle. Every time they make eye contact Poe can’t help but see his nightmare, Finn on the ground bleeding out and turning his blaster on Poe because of the things he did to betray the Resistance-

Poe tries not to make eye contact with Finn very often now, returning his gaze to his screen or whiteboard or anything to escape the vision in his mind.

There’s a meeting called the day eight days after the disaster mission. Everyone is called and it’s super mandatory and Poe has no idea what it’s about. When he asks Leia what’s going on, she simply gives him the familiar look that somehow manages to tell him that she knows more than he ever will. He’s the first one to arrive out of pure nerves and nabs a seat near the front, saving a few next to him for Finn and Rose, and Rey if she decides to attend. People have learned that the rules of the base don’t really apply to her, since she’s always coming and going on the Falcon. One thing stays the same though, and that’s with her return, she always brings new stories and new recruits. She’s here today, lightsaber swinging from her belt as it always is. She takes a seat next to Poe.

“Hey,” he says a little awkwardly, having only had a few conversations with her before this.

“Hi there,” she says. “How have things been recently?”

“Fine. Got a lot done.”

“Yeah, I bet. How’s BB-8?”

“Oh, he’s fine. A little mad that I haven’t paying him more attention, but otherwise fine. He’s made a few friends here on the base. He misses, you by the way. Wants me to tell you to visit him soon.”

She chuckles. “Will do.”

Conversation peters out between them and they slip into comfortable silence until Finn and Rose enter, sitting themselves next to Rey and Poe. Rey and Rose immediately jump into a deep discussion about power converters or whatever. Poe isn’t really paying attention, but rather focusing rather intently on Finn’s hand resting on Poe’s knee. The casualty of it all is enough to send Poe’s blood racing through the roof but he carefully ignores the hand and tells himself to focus on the meeting that’s just starting.

“Good morning, and thank you for coming today,” Leia begins, oddly formal. She’s standing stiffer than usual, like she’s addressing a crowd of foreign entities instead of friends and comrades that she’s been addressing for ages. “I’ve called you here today to announce that I will be temporarily be leaving my position as General.” She says it in such a calm way that Poe doesn't even react to it at first, and then-

The room _explodes._ Nobody knows how to react. People are whispering, people are yelling, people are simply staring in shock. Finn’s hand has gotten tight around Poe’s leg. Not that Poe notices, obviously. There are more important things to be addressing. Leia? Leave the Resistance? That’s like a building without a roof. Things are not going to go well.

She holds her hand up for silence. “I’ve been deliberating this decision for a while now. This isn’t a permanent decision and I’ll always support this rebellion and everything it stand for. But after fourty years of this, I’m going to leave - temporarily - for a rebellion of my own. It’s time for me to learn my place in everything and in the Force, and I’ll be leaving to do exactly that.” More murmurs. Everybody knows that Leia is Force sensitive, but nobody really knew the extent of her own power. Apparently, that included Leia herself.

“Onto the matter of who will be replacing me.”

Poe leans forward in his seat, eager to find out who he’ll be working with until Leia gets back. He knows the next sentence to come out of Leia’s mouth could make or break the Resistance, change the course of their strategy, test Poe’s patience in ways he never imagined could be tested.

“This person has proved themselves time and time again to have the best interest of the Resistance at heart. I fully trust them with my life and with all of your’s. Poe Dameron -”

Poe’s heart fucking  _stops-_

“Is being promoted to General, effective immediately. It’s been an honor serving with all of you.”

No.

No no no no no no

No no nonononono _no-_

Poe can’t be in charge. Of the full rebellion. Of _everyone._ Of the fate of the galaxy. He simply _can’t._ This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t where he’s supposed to be.  Leia was supposed to always be here, to give the orders, to make sure that everything doesn’t go to hell. And now she’s leaving and Poe’s a _general -_

_Once, when Poe was seventeen years old, he fell in love. He took his eyes off the stars long enough to glance around where he was standing on the ground and he saw the sky in the eyes of a boy named Kyros Travers. He was taller than Poe, lankier. He had hair of the sun and eyes that matched the grass in the morning glow. Poe met him in the middle of a fistfight at school. Some mouthbreather had insulted Poe’s something or other, and Poe, known for his infamous temper like the trigger of a gun, threw the first punch. It was a dirty scuffle, but Poe was used to those. Always picking fights with people twice his side, sometimes for good causes, sometimes because he had an itch for battle. His knuckles were always scabbed, his boots bloody, looking for someone to take the pain away or inflict something new to focus on. Funnily enough, the person he was fighting happened to be the very kid he’d ask to coffee in a week._

_Poe broke Kyros’s nose. Kyros broke his heart._

_Three days after the fight, Kyros showed up to Poe’s house to apologize. Poe was out back working on his ship, always working on his ship, oil and grease staining his fingers when they weren’t stained with blood. Kyros came to visit him, casually apologized for whatever he said, and complimented Poe’s ship. Poe almost punched him again, but instead decided to risk it and sit there and have a normal conversation like a normal, rational person._

_Poe liked Kyros’s sense of humor. And the little splash of freckles that adorned his face like the constellations. He found out that he liked coffee, so together they went to the nearest bakery and talked for hours._

_They kissed for the first time under the shade of the weeping willow outside the school where they did “homework.” Poe remembers that Kyros smelled like lavender and freshly-cut grass. They’d lay together under that tree on top of the hill talking about the stars and what they wanted to do when they stopped being seventeen. Kyros was three months older than Poe and swore he wouldn’t move away until Poe could do it too. He said he loved him on their seventh anniversary, and Poe gave him his mother’s old ring and swore that he’d always fly for him._

_He wouldn’t get the chance._

_Fighting, fighting bitterly after almost a year of dating and they’re shouting at each other and why won’t Kyros just listen to him and when Poe demanded his ring back, Kyros snapped the chain off his neck and tossed it at Poe before stalking out and never looking back._

_“I wish I never loved you!” Poe screamed at his as he left and he swears even to this day that he saw a flinch before Kyros slammed the door in his face._

_He cried that night, all throughout the night, so quietly that his dad never heard and the tears barely hit the floor._

_The First Order came that next day. Rumors of a growing power had started circulating the galaxy, rumors of a new, updated version of the Empire with worse weapons and an authority behind it that was willing to watch the world burn. Nobody really believed those rumors, more out of choice than anything else. People wanted to believe that they were protected, that nothing like the old days could ever happen again. It was a shock when the ships landed on Yavin 4 and started slaughtering everything in their sights._

_It was midday when they came and the screams arose before Poe could even leave his house. He ran towards the noise, emergency blaster in his hand and his dad hot on his heels. When they came, everyone was putting up the best struggle they could. But it wasn’t enough against the swarms of troopers that came from everywhere, blasting everything in their path. Poe ran into the battle, a scrappy seventeen-year-old ready to win the fight on his own. He was almost having fun with it, ducking and blasting enemies. That was, until he saw him. The very face he was ready to never see again._

_He saw the Stormtrooper before Kyros did. Poe watched the blaster fire hit him directly in the chest. He saw Kyros’ spry body fall, the body he had held mere days before, fall to the ground, already dead before it hit the floor._

_He saw those eyes he once saw his future in stare up at the sky they discussed, glassy and unmoving. He saw the very hands that were made for Poe, that had memorized the way of his body, that had punched and loved and felt and created stop moving for the first time in almost 18 years._

_Poe felt his heart turn to stone. His body was moving before he even came to, arms pulling his blaster up, eye aiming, the muscle memory pulling the trigger for his occupied brain._

_He saw the Stormtrooper fall, collapsing next to the boy Poe had once loved and hated._

_His first kill._

_And as he stood there, blaster still raised, the fires of battle still raging around his frozen body, he realized just how much he’d always had to lose. How much the First Order could take from him._

_Once, when he was seventeen years old, he fell in love and he swore it would never happen again._

 Now, as he’s sitting where he is in the moment where he is, he knows this is how he can stop this from happening to other naive seventeen-year-olds, to other budding pilots, to other people who’ve seen battle and both itch for it and never want to see it again. He knows he wants this. He knows he doesn’t want this. He knows that this is where he needs to be, not fucking with the stars or with foolish attitudes. Finn’s hand has moved from the spot on his leg to tightly around his hand, trying to give him the support he so desperately needs and refuses to take. Rose is gesturing for him to _stand up, stand up,_ so he rises. He says one thing.

“This isn’t a title that can be given. It has to be earned. So I swear to you, to each and every member of the Resistance, that I will try to earn it.” There’s a leader he wants to be and a leader he needs to be and there’s only one that can prevail. Both he and everyone else knows which one has to. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly and sits back down to Finn, all the air immediately escaping from his lungs. People begin to leave, some stopping by to congratulate him. Most just leave, either to prepare for the future or because the change in leadership will matter later more than it matters now. Poe gets up to leave after everyone else has, almost alone in the room once vacated by the cause. The only people that haven’t left yet are his friends. And when he turns to exit, he’s backed by them. He’s ready to fight for them.

* * *

 

It’s hard at the beginning, as most important things tend to be. They’ve stopped focusing on planets and are now opting to take the Order heads-on for the most part. They’re stronger than they’ve been in a while, but not as strong as _before._ Not as strong as they need it to be.

Today’s his first official day as General. Leia’s left the base, left the planet. There’s a hole in his heart stretching bigger and bigger every time he sees the spot where Leia’s ship should be. It’s his first day in ages without her and he doesn’t exactly know how to feel. Gossip spreads around the base, as per usual, and the general consensus is that everyone seems to like Poe more as a pilot than a leader. _This guy_ is in charge?  _This guy,_ with the shadows under his eyes like the city at dusk and hands that itched for a trigger?

It’s hard. Wounds have been reopened like an old gunshots left untreated. The word “sir” is tagged onto sentences a half-second too late for them to be fully genuine, and sometimes forgotten altogether. Salutes follow the same template, performed a little too halfheartedly to be directed at someone of Poe’s rank. Orders are questioned, or carried on a second slower than they would usually be. More people are added to the bridge, more screens, more information. He fills the chain of command with people he knows he can trust, even if they don’t quite trust him yet. He pretends not to hear the things said about when he turns. He never refutes the things said, instead turning his attention back to the screen where he’s writing.

His first real mission comes a few days after, watching from the bridge as people load onto their ships. Blue Leader salutes him before climbing in, followed in suit by the rest of his team. The squadrons take off and Poe turns to his new home. The comms begin to come in one by one.

“This is General Dameron, do you copy?”

“This is Yellow Leader. Copy.”

“Blue Leader. Copy.”

“Red here. Copy.”  

“Orange copies!”

“Green’s listening.”

Poe takes a deep breath. “Let’s kick some ass. Jump to lightspeed in three… two… one…”

They’re on the move, hurtling towards danger while Poe watches from the ground.

“Eyes on the ship?” Poe asks.

“Blue has visual.”

“Perfect. Yellow, you’re taking the west end. Blue, keep those TIEs off of them. Orange? Blow this to oblivion.”

* * *

 

 There’s one place where his authority isn’t questioned, and that’s on the field. His reputation proceeds him, his reflexes bursting, hands twitching and aching to act out the orders he’s furiously barking. His mouth is running fast, but his hands can run faster. TIEs swarm their squadrons and the real battle begins.

“Yellow one, pull out and regroup with Green. They’re running low on ships. Cover their asses, make sure nobody gets hit while they blast those shields. Two, follow suit.”

“On it, sir!” it’s the fastest response he’s gotten all week and soon the sounds of explosions fill his ears.

“Barrett, what’s the situation out there?” Poe calls across the room.

“Approximately 60 TIEs flying out and more on the way!”

“Fuck. Green, how’re you holding up? Yellow, you getting close to getting through those shields?”

“Almost there, but it’s not happening fast enough!” Yellow three yells through the comms. “We need more time!”

“On it,” Green Leader says, but his voice is strained. “Shit. I’m trying, but there’s too many ships--”

“Keep holding out, we’re counting on you to keep them off of Yellow and Orange. Three more minutes, tops.”

On his screen, most of Green’s comms have a red X next to them. He knows what that means.

“Blue! Tell me you’ve got good news.” Poe says, trying not to let the panic in his voice show.

“Fifty TIEs down on our end but more on the way. If those shields aren’t down soon, we’re toast.”

Orange pipes up. “West shields are down!”

“Fire at will!” Poe orders.

“Major hit! First Order engines failing.” Orange seven shouts.

“That’s some good news! Red, how’re things looking over in the East?”

“Fantastic, sir. Shields just failed and we’re firing away.”

Poe breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s great. Green?’

“Not looking good over here, boss.” Green leader shouts, voice strained and breathing heavily. “There’s too many of them.”

“Pull back, regroup with Blue. Blue, you’re covering Green and make sure the TIEs aren’t going after Red or Orange.”

Connix is shouting from across the control room. “First Order is preparing to jump to lightspeed!”

“How long?”

“Six minutes.”

“I’m calling us back in at one minute. Teams, you have five minutes to do as much damage as possible. Raise hell, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear sir!” Comes the rousing response.

“There’s too many of them-” Blue Leaders interjects.

Shit.

“Stay with me, Roydon, I’ve got you- skirt to the right, they won’t be expecting that, they’re anticipating a heads on attack-”

“I can’t shake them-” his comm suddenly goes out. Everyone in the room knows why.

“Connix, how’s our time on that jump?” Poe shouts, a little desperately.

“Three minutes.”

“Alright guys, keep fighting.” Poe says. For a minute, there’s nothing over the comms. Everyone’s focused on staying alive, on keeping their friends alive, on staying in the air.

Another comm goes out, this one to Blue five.

“It should be me,” Poe says quietly, eyes closed. “I should be out there.” _I should be the one dying._ They’re words meant for the fighter he used to be, words so close to the truth they burn a hole in his tongue. They’re words meant for him and his fears, meant for his ears only. Everyone hears them.

Red three interrupts his fear. “Engines two and three are out!”

“One minute to lightspeed!” Connix tells Poe.

Poe looks at his choices. They’re so close to taking out the final engine, to sinking a major First Order ship. This could be the biggest win since their first mission on Naboo -

Poe looks at his monitor. At the comms that have been cut, at the ships marked destroyed. His listens to the silence through the comms, multitudes of people waiting on his order to die for the cause or live for the future. He sees Kyros, falling to the ground. His hands itch for the controls of his ship.

“Call them back” He orders to the people on the bridge. “Send out the word for them to return.” The order is repeated and spread to every ship and they pull back, jumping to lightspeed. They head back to Naboo.

Poe knows that the adrenaline won’t fill him like it used to. He knows that there’s no use celebrating their win, their close call when there’s families to be called and fuel to calculate and ships to be recalibrated. For the first time since the battle started, he lets himself slow down. He feels every loss, every blow to every ship, even with the cheers from the X-wings filling his ears. His hands grip the hub and his head falls, eyes shut.

He could’ve done more.

He should’ve done more.

It should’ve been him out there, living the danger, taking the shots, not giving the orders. He can fight faster than he can talk.

After all, it’s like everyone says. He’s better as a pilot than a leader.

* * *

 

 The ships come back to base. There’s hugging and celebration. There’s tears. People gather the booze for the party. The control room starts to leave. Everyone on base takes a breath: it’s over, the battle’s done, they could sit down. Another battle survived. People pat each other on the back as they leave. The hard part for them is over, the calculations finished, the buttons pushed, the battle _over._

Poe’s work begins now. The hard part, the part, he was dreading doing.

He counts the bodies. The ships lost. The fuel lost. The bodies needed. The ships needed. The fuel needed.

This is the beginning of his life as a general, damage control after his first mission. He forces himself not to think as he counts, as he plans, as he sits in the empty control room. Only after he’s done does he allow the feeling to wash over his body, to weigh down his heart and his brain until he’s sobbing in his chair. It’s the first time he’s cried since Kyros and he’s not quiet about it this time, his sorrow a spring that leads to a greater, neverending ocean.

This is what it means to be a leader, he’s realizing in his pain. The rocks on his shoulders he’s carrying, each one a person who needs him to stay strong. This is what it means to be a leader. Not to be able to give orders well or think in the heat of the moment. Being a leader in the tears for the dead that flow in his veins and allow him to look for the living. Being a leader is the holes in his heart burned after every battle. Being a leader is having your fingers twitch in batte, your heart telling you what to say before your mouth can say it.

Being a leader is feeling _everything_  so you’re able to fight for it.

* * *

 

That night, Poe heads to the hill. He toasts the lives lost, dedicating their souls to the stars.

 

* * *

 

Things calm down. Missions are sent out more regularly and Poe becomes used to the stab in his heart every time he’s not able to shoot an order out fast enough, or there’s an injury on the field that could’ve been prevented if he had only _been there_ _,_ if he was out there fighting and helped and taking on the danger head on instead of being _here._

People on base are still slow to follow his commands, questioning his decision with a flick of an eye to their friend or a barely-masked grunt of dissatisfaction. But the pilots, they’re both Poe’s savior and biggest weakness, defending Poe both inside and outside of battle. He knows he can count on them for anything.

Poe wishes they wouldn’t do that. It makes damage control so much harder after mission, having known their names and dreams and names of family members.

Things calm down, though. The Resistance plans more missions - not just attacks on the First Order, but recruitment as well, and setting out to troubled planets to fight off the First Order’s stronghold. Missions get riskier, missions get easier, and Poe finds himself depending on his muscle memory from his flying days less and less. During one ground mission to try and free the children from the mines on Droaturn, he didn’t find himself wishing himself into the battle _once._ Instead, he focused on the things that were happening outside his head: the feeling of the Hub under his fingers, the loud exclamations of the people around him, the distant blaster fire that was picked up slightly by the comms. He cheered and whooped and gasped along with the pilots and soldiers, pacing around the control room checking every screen and conferring with ever lieutenant in the room. The pilots weren’t just his problem now, it was _everyone_  and he figures he’d better start acting accordingly. He stops breathing down Finn’s back when he’s in battle, giving him enough space to do his job but leaving him with enough trust to make sure he returns home.

The toasts on the hill become a weekly tradition, a private one at first, but then eventually extending to the people involved in the battle, and then to anybody who wants to mourn. Some days there aren’t any missions to toast to, the rare occasion that everybody found their way home. In that case, Poe toasts to the Force, to dumb luck, to good health, to future prosperity, and always, always to the stars.

 

* * *

 

Poe’s been a general for a month now. A month of counting bodies and fuel and making space for the new ships and recycling the old spots whose owners and their ships didn’t survive after a battle. Poe’s been in charge for a month now and still sometimes misses the feel of old leather under his calloused fingers and the familiar polyester of his orange jumpsuit. His trigger fingers sits still in his pocket while his mouth does all the action, telling people the phrases that they were required to follow.

Things are less hard for him. Every day is a battle, of course, both with the First Order and with the loyalty of his own army. But some battles are won with patience and work and others you can’t win at all, so he puts away the opinion of the public and focuses on just doing the damn job.

He tries to make time for his friends as well, especially Finn, who he’s seen less of since taking charge. Apparently Rose and Rey have created a game where they give Finn a food and he has to guess what it’s made of. So far, Rose and Rey and winning with over 30 points. Poe’s coming tonight with a piece of chocolate he got on D’Qar and was saving for the right occasion. He figures that now was as good of a chance as ever.

Finn’s eyes widen when he tries it. “What is this?”

Poe laughs. “Thought you’d enjoy it. Chocolate, from D’Qar.”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“Better than coffee?”

“ _So_  much better.”

“I’m glad.”

 

* * *

 

 Later, the two of them return to Finn’s bunk. It’s raining outside and their usual hill is covered with mud and grime, so they figured that staying inside is their best course of option. It’s cozy in Finn’s bunk, clothes (many of which have been borrowed by Poe) scattered all over the floor with no sense of organization in sight. Slung on top of his bed is-

“Wait a minute, is that my new jacket?” Poe asks in disbelief.

“You forgot it in the control room one day and I was just holding onto it until I got a chance to give it back!” Finn argues weakly.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Do you want it back?”

Poe shakes his head. “Nah. You’re in need of some fashion help anyway.”

“Hey!”

“You’ve been wearing the same thing for twenty years! Don’t try to deny it.”

They lie on the cot, a little misshapen and a little rickety, but it’s still holding the two up regardless.

“What do you dream about, Finn?” Poe asks. It’s a little blunt, but the two always talk together like they’re running out of time and this conversation could be their last.

“What do you mean?’

“What are your hopes for the future? Like, after the First Order has been defeated. What comes after for you?”

“I’m honestly not sure. I’ve never given it a lot of thought.”

“Whatever you say isn’t permanent, you know. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”

“Travel. _Everywhere._ I’d like to go and see everything in the galaxy. Every color, every planet, every sun, every moon, every story. I want to learn _all of it_ _._ How many people live in this galaxy? How many languages are spoken? There are so many things I’ve missed out on because of the First Order. I’d like to see them.” Finn says with no hesitation.

“Really? Everywhere?”

“ _Everywhere.”_

“Even planets like Jakku?”

“Even planets like Jakku.”

“Damn.”

“What about you? What are you doing after the war’s over?”

Poe thinks, and thinks hard. Much like Finn, he’s never really seen a life after the First Order.

“I’m not sure either. My life’s always revolved around them, you know. Always running, always fighting, always flying. I think I’d like to sit still, just for a second. Breathe. Take a deep breath and know that the First Order isn’t going to come flying out of nowhere to kill us. Sometimes I forget that people have a life outside of the Resistance, that there are people out there who aren’t spending every waking moment thinking about fuel or bodies or the families that are never going to see each other again.

“I think I’d just like to breathe and be safe.”

“The First Order doesn’t have to be gone for that to happen,” Finn whispers, snaking his hand around Poe’s. His hand is warm and sturdy, grounding Poe to Naboo and tethering him to this _now._ Poe feels… Safe. Safe here in this tiny bunk on a bare-bones cot with his best friend who’s wearing his jacket on a planet far away from the rest of the world, during the witching hour where every sin is washed away by the rising sun of the next morning.  Poe’s heart leaps and then stills, knowing that this is a place where _things are going to be okay_ and there’s no one to protect except for this moment, fragile in its intimacy.

“Let’s go outside,” Poe suggests.

 

* * *

 

 It’s raining outside and Finn’s taken two of Poe’s jackets up to this point so Poe doesn’t bother to grab another one as they race outside. They’re children again, chasing each other, splashing around in the mud, running in the downpour and trying to dart in between the raindrops.

The excitement wears off after a minutes or two and they’re left standing there in the rain, heads tilted towards the sky, the flood beating against their eyes and their faces and soaking through Poe’s favorite shirt. He looks over at his friend whose head is up and eyes are shut and he’s still and breathing slowly as if time has come to an end and war’s a word that’s never been invented, Poe thinking and calculating for a moment and just _breathes._

 _This is what I have to fight for,_ he thinks, looking at the second boy his heart’s ever reached out to. _This is everything the First Order is never going to take._

Finn’s eyes open and he pulls Poe next to his side. Together, they look up at the rain until their eyes run from the water.

* * *

 

 That night, Poe sleeps in Finn’s room. He drags in his cot from across the hall and they sleep a few feet away from each other, breaths intertwining. And for the first time since Rose, he doesn’t have a nightmare.

 

* * *

 

“Dammit! Does anyone have eyes on Darian?” Poe swears into the comm two days later. The Resistance is out trying to disable some land mines or something and  one of their fighters has just lept into a mysterious, unsecured cave because she heard a cry. There’s a suspicious lack of answers coming from his team, so Poe can only assume the worst. A ragged family fights their way out of the cave, but no Darian.

Poe sighs. This is a win in all ways of the word, technically speaking. Families were saved, planets were liberated, all that junk. But why does his heart feel so hollow?

 

* * *

 

Poe sleeps at Finn’s the next night. He sings to him, promising _real_  music instead of the crap they play at parties. The next night, Poe teaches him how to dance. It’s real dancing, not that crap they did at the party, and the scent of his mom hits him so suddenly that he nearly falls over. Watching Finn move clumsily through the steps, laughing the entire time, is so intimate that Poe nearly closes his eyes to give Finn his privacy. But as Finn steps on his toes, Poe realizes this is his moment too and he’s damn well gonna enjoy it.

 

* * *

 

He’s spending more time with Rose, too. She tells him about her childhood, her sister, her favorite color, how she takes shelter under the trees and the warm morning air. She tells him that she takes to take broken things apart and try to fix them. Poe’s learning that that refers to people as well.

 

* * *

 

 Rey lets him take a tour of the Falcon for about five minutes before he has to race back to his post. After doing so, he’s come to the conclusion that there is _no_  way that ship should ever make it off the ground. But it does, and the people it's helped and the places its been adorn the walls like an old history. By the end, he’s both confused and humbled.

 

* * *

 

He spends more time with the pilots and soldiers, too. He learns their home planets, their customs, their religions. He learns which people show up to the toast after every mission and who are just too exhausted to come. He learns how they fight, how they grieve, how they laugh and protect one another and why they fight. He throws himself into their lives so wholeheartedly that missions become life-or-death for him. Tearing himself away from the control room becomes so impossible that sometimes it takes a stun to the back to get him to leave.

Still, things are moving. The First Order’s slowed down. Ships are lost, ships are brought, ships are fixed. Every so often Poe will receive a message from Leia that both scolds him and praises him at the same time, and Poe never knows whether to laugh or to sob.

He loses more of the squadrons. Medics run out of supplies. Soldiers are lost on the battlefield and more and more blasters are being destroyed by the second.

This is his job: to count up all of that and find a way to replace, to replace the lives and items lost, to replace the holes in people’s hearts, to replace prized ships and guns and strategy.  
He attends parties again, and people are happy to see him. He cries during the most recent toast, the one where fifteen ships and thirty people were lost, the tears dripping slowly down his face as he recites their names slowly and clearly, letting their souls be lost to the wind and embedded in the sky.

Nobody brings up the mutiny after that.

 

* * *

 

Poe writes a letter. It’s addressed to Finn and he gives it to BB-8 for later. Inside is his mother’s ring, wrapped up with its cord and shoved inside the envelope.

Just in case.

 

* * *

 

Things are quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

It’s been a week since they’ve attacked the First Order head on and they haven’t retaliated yet, in any shape or form. There’s been no new reports of terrorism on planets or new conquests and no news of the hunt for the Resistance. Things seemed nice at first, but now everyone’s on edge, waiting for the worst.

The worst comes in the shape of a two-day attack, starting on one of Naboo’s neighboring planets at midnight. Poe races to the command center barely even out of his pajamas and sends out the ships. It’s a bad attack, yes, but nothing they haven’t handled before. THe First Order is bringing their same ships with their same commander, so Poe knows that he will be able to handle this.

That is, until the ships descend upon Naboo barely an hour later.

The attack on Naboo is not a normal one in any sense of the word. No, there’s swarms of TIEs and ships and looming over the star-flecked sky is a goddamn  _Dreadnaught._

The order is called for people to evacuate but Poe knows he can’t pull back from the other planet because even though it very _clearly_ is a trap, there are still civilians in danger and Poe needs to decide _now_ which he thinks are more important, his team or the very people his team have signed up to protect, the hundreds of innocent lives unarmed and unprotected against the entire strength of Hux’s nastiest men. With a curse, he knows what he needs to do.

“Blue squadron, make sure that the First Order doesn’t leave that planet unscathed. If they’re asking for a fight, they’re damn well going to get a fight. And do your best to make sure they don’t follow any of our escaping ships.”

The response come rapid fire from his team, deploying light gunfire as they let their worst onto the might of the First Order. In front of Poe’s eyes, outside the window, the sky lights up with blasters hurling towards the Dreadnaught, futile attempts to injure the massive ship while the Resistance flies away. 

No damage is being done but the casualties are low and they _will_ get out of there, Poe reassures himself. He _will_ lead them out of this mess, the people in this crew _will_ make it another day.

Half of the comms in his ear fizzle and die and some of his optimism with it.

“Keep firing on those TIEs! Try to protect as many others as you can!” Poe orders. “How are the evacuations going? He turns to Connix, who’s babbling on a separate comm to the ground team.

“Not terribly. People are leaving but itching for a fight. Biggest problem are people trying to take transport ships and use them to fire against the First Order. You need to tell people to stay calm and keep going.”

So he does.

The last of the evac ships are off the ground when the desperate cries come from Blue squadron who need backup fly into his ear. At the same time ground is yelling at him that their ships are being picked off one by one and what should they _do_  they’re losing people-

And Poe doesn’t want anyone to die but also wants to protect and fight and defend and-

He has an idea.

It’s not a General Dameon idea. This idea doesn’t stem from the rational and cautious leader he’s become, weary and wary from the war and death decorating his shoulders like a cloak in the summer. This idea isn’t going to protect his people or save Finn or make Leia or his mother proud.

This is an idea that comes from Commander Dameron, from Poe, from the boy in the A-wing who could count the stars in his soul and wanted nothing more than to live among them forever. This comes from the rebellion pumping in the beats of his heart, flowing through the rest of his body until he was nothing except for  _hope._  This is an idea from the boy who was meant to fly.

“Connix, tell me. Do we have any more X-wings?”

“Just a few,” she says, glancing at what’s left of their navy. “Why?”

“Blue squadron, retreat and escape with the others. Tell everyone I’m sorry.” He says. “And tell BB-8 to deliver the letter. He’ll know what to do with it. Connix,” he looks at the woman who’s been with him since the beginning, holding his back and holding her own against the cruelties of the world, “thank you. For everything. It’s been an honor serving with you.” He runs off, grabbing the nearest helmet and racing towards the ships that might save everyone. Poe leaps inside, already pulling off the ground before the hood is completely on the ship, letting himself be swirled away by the feeling of not being planted anymore.

He takes off, ready to make an impossible shot.

The thing about Dreadnaughts is that they are virtually indestructible. Top of the line shield, all the guns, lots of space and manpower that could try to destroy many puny rebellions. But the thing that only a pilot would know about a Dreadnaught is that every ship has a weak spot, and if blasted enough, it would crack. The whole ship would go down and everyone in it, saving the day and the people they were attacking. The weakness, though, is so small, so insignificant in the overall design, that most people say it’s too hard to get to. It’s an impossible shot, only a maniac would attempt it. The gunner would have one chance to make it before being torn apart by guns and all the nasty bits that adorned the ship. One would have to be amazing or insane to make it.

Good thing Poe is both.

He speeds towards the Dreadnaught at the speeds he’s never had the chance to try, His hands should be shaking, eyes quivering at the plan that lay ahead of him. He should be trying to think his way out like he did so many times before, come up with the lowest casualty rate possible, trying to keep the Resistance alive by the hair on his breath.

But he’s not.

He knows that this is the only way to take out enough of the Order’s forces to give the Resistance enough time to escape and find a new rendezvous. He knows that if this is done, the other forces will have to retreat, leaving the exposed civilians alone and the sky at peace. He knows that this is his best course of option, not as a leader, but as a person.

He knows that the Resistance needs to live more than it needs him as a leader.

He knows that the Resistance needs to live more than he doesn't want to die.

And as he turns towards death itself, firing up his blasters for the final time, he thinks of the story of A2-9030 and hopes to become the stars that he lived and died for.

He takes the shot.

_heat light explosions death fire bad bright why is everything so bright_

_sun moon stars planet forest ocean tree_

_bright so bright everything is why is b r   i    g    h   t_

_s u   n     m   o   o   n_

_S            t               a         r    s_

_Finn_

_F  i    n     n_

_Mom-_

The world around him ends.

 

* * *

 

_Finn,_

_I don’t really know how to start this letter. I don’t know why I was overcome with the impulse to even write it. This isn’t the sort of thing I usually do, you know. If you’re reading this, that means that I didn’t make it back from somewhere and I probably won’t be back. I should fill this letter with things about the Resistance and protocol and all that stuff to explain what the hell should happen, but fuck it. I’m dead. There’s nobody telling me what to do anymore._

_I don’t know why I met you. I don’t know what brought us together or how or why. I don’t know what caused you to take off your mask that day and get us into this crazy adventure in the first place. But whenever I look at you, I thank the stars and everything I love that this happened. You’re like this walking piece of the sky and whenever I look at you or touch you or laugh with you or dance with you I feel like my heart is going to just implode and take everything with me._

_Finn, I think I understand your story now. A2-9030 didn’t just leave and he didn’t just fall in love. A2-9030 gave himself so completely to the one he loved that his love gave way and became the only thing that would always be there, illuminating the path of warriors and reminding fighters of the galaxy that the sky is nothing without anything to strive for. He gave the world his love and wanted nothing in return._

_Finn, I would be the stars for you. And I’m sorry I can’t keep living for you to prove that to you day after day after day to you._

_Enclosed is my mother’s old ring. I’ve worn it every day for years and it’s become as much as me as the sky has. Finn, I want you to keep this ring for me. Please. This is the star I can give you and I need you to hold onto it so I’ll be like A2-9030, frozen in a story and in your sky._

_I’m sorry I could never take you to the ocean._

_All my best and the world around,_

_Poe_

 

* * *

 

This is the last moment Poe should ever be scared. There’s nothing around him except light and dark. In the back of his head, he hears voices. Some or smooth, some panicked, some yelling and screaming while some are whispering and murmuring. In the midst of it all, Poe’s muddled brain can make something out in the back, the voice of someone he never thought he’d see again. Familiar hands are reaching towards him and he reaches towards there’s, ready to be nothing and everything at the same time--

He jerks away. He’s breathing heavily.

_Breathing._

He’s breathing.

His surroundings look suspiciously like the medbay of a Resistance ship, one of the huge ones they use for major space travel. The kind that they only have one of and he didn’t know if it made it off Naboo.

He blinks slowly, eyes both sore and numb at the same time. His limbs are lead, weighing him to the bed. To his right is a worried face of someone he knows, clutching a letter in his hand in a way that only people who haven’t slept in days hold things.

“Hey, buddy.” Poe says, ignoring the scratches in his voice.

“ _Poe!"_ Finn leaps from his chair and seems unsure of what to do. Finally, he decides on an awkward side-hug-thing.

Poe groans as he tries to sit up on the bed. “Help me get up?”

“Oh, uh, of course!”

There’s a bit of an awkward silence as Poe tries to regain his thoughts and surroundings. They’re still in space, not on a planet, and his confusion swirls around the room.

“I have some questions…” Poe says, looking around the bay. “Is-”

“Everyone who escaped is here, Blue Squadron made it out okay, and we’re currently coordinating on the bridge. Only 15 people died.” Finn interrupts.

“That… that answers it. How long was I out for? How am I still alive?”

“We caught you floating in a half-destroyed X-wing right before we jumped to lightspeed. We weren’t… we weren’t sure you’d ever wake up.” Finn sits next to Poe on the bed, his hand resting gently on Poe’s. “You’ve been out for three days. It’s a miracle you’re even here.”

Another awkward silence. Poe notices a familiar ring hanging around his friend’s neck.

Finn interrupts the silence after a minute. “God, what were you _thinking?”_

“Sorry, what?”

“Just racing off like that? Without any warning at _all?_ You just expected us to watch you blow yourself up and for _what?_ So we could get away?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“That’s not the point! I had to stay there and watch you kill yourself for the cause and I couldn’t do jack shit about it.”

Poe sighs. “The decision was bigger than me, bigger than us. It was for the Resistance. It was to make sure it lived on for another day. So what if I wasn’t there to lead it? There’ll be other leaders, but this ship needs to stay off the ground.”

Finn laughs bitterly. “That’s bullshit. Poe, you were the first person to trust me. You were the first person to trust me, _Finn,_ and not the number. Not FN-2187. Not the mask. You saw me and you gave me a _name_ and we fought together for like fifteen minutes. I had literally _just_ met you and you allowed me to put a gun to your side and march you down the halls to place me in one of the most powerful killing machines in the world. You never tried to run. You never faltered. When I thought you died back on Jakku, I experienced actual loss. Of a _friend._ Do you know how much I love saying that? You’re my _friend,_ Poe, and actual, serious friend and I thought I lost you because I couldn’t shoot a ship in time. And yesterday? Yesterday I saw you do the exact same thing. Don’t talk to me about sacrifice or whatever, I don’t want to hear it.” Finn says.

Poe’s quiet, staring at the ground. “I’m not going to apologize. I did what I had to do.”

Finn sighs. “I know you won’t. You shouldn’t have to. But it still sucks seeing you in danger.”

Poe sighs. “You know what I’ve learned, Finn? I’ve learned that a rebellion is nothing without sacrifice. It’s the sacrifice that keeps us fighting, even when everything else is lost. It’s needed and keeps people marching forward. But you know what else I’ve learned, Finn?” Poe squeezes his hand tighter. “I’ve learned that losing people _sucks._ It’s hard and makes your entire world crash into the ground. I’ve learned that there needs to be a balance; you can’t expect everyone to come back alive, but you can’t demand people to do something for you that you’d never do for them. And I’ve learned that the leader is there to serve the cause, not the other way around. For the past few months, it’s been killing me to send people out without being there, demanding sacrifice while simultaneously banning it. So when I saw the chance to make a sacrifice without anyone else dying, it was the chance that I needed. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you but you’re _alive_ and you’re _here_ and I’ll never, _never_ apologize for that.”

Exhaustion is pulling on Poe’s vision, dragging him back to the abyss. He’s been awake for too long, talking for too long. His muscles ache and his voice is softening, eyes trying to close and send him back so his body can mend. He yawns and lies back down on his bed, fingers still wrapped around Finn’s.

“Stay with me?” he asks Finn, a little shyly, a child asking a friend for a playdate. Finn nods and lays down next to him, wrapping his arms around him, almost as if to make sure his friend doesn’t float away again.

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

They don’t talk about the letter until Poe is finally out of bed and standing again a week later. The ship is still floating and will probably do so for at least another week, so everybody can can a take breather. There’s been people coming and going in the medbay so say hi to Poe, or to ask him what the hell he was thinking. Finn hasn’t left his side ever since he woke up, opting to either sleep on a chair or on Poe’s bed. (Medics have come by and offered Finn a bed, and he’s declined every time).

Poe has a pretty profound limp now and he leans on Finn while they find their way to a quiet corner of the ships. There’s no hills to relax on so they find a window facing the stars and stand, looking at everything as they pass.

“I meant everything I wrote, you know.” Poe says quietly, gazing at the sights in front of him. “I won’t take it back now that I’m apparently not dead.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” Finn responds. “You said it better than I ever would. But no more leaping into explosions for me, alright? I’d rather enjoy your letter while you’re alive.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“Then promise me something else.”

“I already told you,” Poe says, turning to look at the boy he’s broken every promise for. “I promise you the stars.”

Their kiss is sweet and silent, a snowflake flying dizzily and calmly towards the ground. Their kiss is everything they’ve fought for, every nighttime meeting under moonlight, everything they’ve ever said and wanted to say. Their kiss is their past and their future, everything coming together to fit in this one, shining moment.

Poe doesn’t know where he’s going next, or what tomorrow will bring, or what Kylo Ren is going to take from him. Poe doesn’t know who he’ll be saying hello to for the last time tomorrow or what ships will be dispatched and what will need to be repaired. He doesn’t know if they’ll ever reach the ocean together or find the time to breathe.

But right now, Poe damn well doesn’t care.

So he stands on his ship with the man he loves and promises the galaxy to his name.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this passion project of mine, and feel free to pop a comment down below if you liked it.


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